#'and the others are like cursed with hunger from another world and a hole in their stomach that leaves the dimension entirely and they will

[red-the-dragon-writes]

Fellow writers who come up with wild and/or complicated as hell worldbuilding! Share some of your highlights!

I'll go first:

Two major systems of currency that dramatically increase and decrease in value across the continent in direct conjunction with which particular major country is closer;

Magical person-eating eels who have their own entire society underneath a particular city that never becomes relevant because they think everyone else is frustrating and terrible, who have exactly one (1) ambassador to interface with the outside world but who decided that everyone else was (still) frustrating and terrible and now works as an assassin for hire instead of doing that and just sends the occasional trade good back home with their stipend;

Pseudo-electricity that works by summoning spirits from outside of the world to come hang out in your batteries

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Of Sauron's Lust on Season 3

Now Sauron's lust and pride increased, until he knew no bounds, and he determined to make himself master of all things in Middle-earth, and to destroy the Elves, and to compass if he might, the downfall of Númenor. He brooked no freedom nor any rivalry, and he named himself Lord of the Earth. A mask he still could wear so that if he wished he might deceive the eyes of Men, seeming to them wise and fair. But he ruled rather by force and fear, if they might avail; and those who perceived his shadow spreading over the world called him the Dark Lord and named him the Enemy; and he gathered under his government all the evil things of the days of Morgoth that remained on earth or beneath it; and the Orcs were at his command and multiplied like flies. The Silmarillion

Oh boy, Sauron's lust will increase and know no bounds in Season 3; this is a description of the "War of the Elves and Sauron" from Tolkien.

What kind of mind palace shenanigans will happen in Season 3!? Now that Sauron has a open line of communication via bound, and has already “bore a hole” to “slither in”to Galadriel.

Let’s see another example of when “evil lusts” in Tolkien lore: 

Then Morgoth looking upon her beauty [Lúthien] conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart since he fled from Valinor. Thus he was beguiled by his own malice, for he watched her, leaving her free for a while, and taking secret pleasure in his thought. The Silmarillion [Lúthien dances for Morgoth on his Dark Throne, before she puts him and all the host of Angband to sleep with her magic singing]

Tolkien comes back to this "evil lust" Morgoth felt for Lúthien on several works:

…Yet I will give a respite brief, a while to live, a little while, though purchased dear, to Lúthien the fair and clear, a pretty toy for idle hour. In slothful garden many a flower like thee the amorous gods are used honey-sweet to kiss, and cast then bruised, their fragrance loosing, under feet. … A! curse the Gods! O hunger dire,O blinding thirst’s unending fire! One moment shall ye cease, and slake your sting with morsel I here take! In his eyes the fire to flame was fanned,and forth he stretched his brazen hand.Lúthien as shadow shrank aside. ‘Not thus, O King! Not thus!’ she cried. … …And her wings she caught then deftly up, and swift as thought slipped from his grasp, and wheeling round, fluttering before his eyes, she wound a mazy-wingéd dance… The Lay of Leithian, The Lost Road and Other Writings

"Nay," saith Melkor, "such things are little to my mind; but as thou hast come thus far to dance, dance, and after we will see," and with that he leered horribly, for his dark mind pondered some evil.  Book of Lost Tales vol.2

Then Morgoth laughed, but he was moved with suspicion, and said that her accursed race would get no soft words or favour in Angband. What could she do to give him pleasure, and save herself from the lowest dungeons? He reached out his mighty brazen hand but she shrank away. He is angry but she offers to dance. Commentary to the Lay of Leithian (The Lays of Beleriand)

Celeborn was his name. We met in a glade of flowers. I was dancing and he saw me there. Rings of Power, "The Eye", 1x07

Wait, what? I’m not implying Sauron will impersonate Celeborn, mind you. Only that there is already a reference to Galadriel dancing in “Rings of Power”.

Celebrimbor’s father (who was the most evil among all sons of Fëanor) also lust after Lúthien (like Celebrimbor himself after Galadriel in Tolkien lore):

...why Curufin looked with hot desire on Lúthien [...] thereafter never near might win to Lúthien, nor touch that maid" Lay of Leithian

Apparently, Charlie is right. Sauron might ravish Galadriel, yet. Her mind, of course.

Dead dove enjoyers: come to collect your ship.

[ausrache]

the call of the void. / part one. content warning(s): mentions death, blood, self-loathing & hatred

ENTRY 00234 DATE: 20.04.20XX TIME: 3:21AM

do you know how it feels the first time that life slips from your hands?

not your own, but that of another person. as an entity that has been born within complete darkness — a place that fostered violence & rewarded cruelty in its most horrible of ways. there was no sun. no warmth. not one person that would hold you when you're down. no, instead — the moment that you came into existence, you were supposed to fight. fight for survival. fight for life. fight to become something else than just a simple grain of sand within this garden of darkness.

as one born from the void, i think it was always considered my own birthright that i'd step foot into such a situation. after all, you couldn't escape it. bloodshed was everywhere. but it felt different . . . whilst i remained within the shadows, my own darkness blended in so seamlessly with that of the others. it was almost as if it didn't exist. it was almost as if i could hide that monstrosity that was forever a part of me. against the others, i seemed almost harmless with my ways.

but it became different when i was forced into this mortal shell. in fact, everything was different. the way i felt things. the way i perceived things. the warmth. the blinding light of the sun. the people that walked alongside me.

but also that hunger.

that thirst.

i hated it.

i still hate it.

i can never unlearn to hate it. at first, i didn't even know what it was that had my body so tense. on alert, as if something terribly wrong was happening to me. but then . . . i understood. of course, i didn't want to but — i had to. for survival. for life.

and suddenly, that warmth faded from me.

i was back in the darkness, even if this was a whole different place surrounding me. i understood that i carried the void within me wherever i would go; within that abyssal hole in my chest where once my heart laid; within those ruby eyes that gaze others like a frightened animal; within the thirst that rasps against my throat & tongue like sandpaper. that darkness was carved into my soul & i would forever remain trapped within in, no matter where i went.

in fact, it was perhaps only that blinding light of earth that showed how truly monstrous this body is. this soul is.

how i am . . . ?

is this what i am supposed to be? is this all i can ever be? coldness raked itself through my skin & i felt myself submitting to that cruel feeling of nausea as i accepted my fate. the shame that lingered in the back of my throat, dripping down my tongue & onto my skin — red like the blood moon that shined on me . . .

it was all me, in the end.

that is how it feels to take a life.

how it was for me, at least. those exact thoughts were the ones that infected my brain as i held onto their cold body, begging the fates, the gods & whoever was able to hear my begging to undo my crimes. i never had a choice to whom i exactly prayed for most wouldn't hear my wails. perhaps, i was never meant for divine intervention. for a single blessing. but at least — spare this person that fell at my hand for the sake of keeping this monster alive.

i've heard it before, of course, that in some sense it was neccessary. neccessary evil. neccessary cruelty. for if the hunger remained, i would be the one to fade away from this world.

but then again, how am i neccessary to this world?

how can my own actions be neccessary when this existence in itself is but a curse? a play by the fates? a joke? one that was so sick & twisted that one understood.

so, if i was to pass . . . would it be so horrible? it would silence this monster. this body. this soul. this whole life that has been fostered by darkness would forever close & perhaps, people could finally rejoice.

for there was one less monster on this earth.

[authorautumnbanks]

How To Tame A Sorcerer (29)

Gojo opens the front door to the apartment. The door hits the wall with a loud bang. He winces. That is for sure going to leave a hole in the wall that someone other than him will have to fix. He snaps his fingers, turning around to look at Kagome and Yuji. Kagome shakes her head and mutters under her breath.

"I've got the perfect mission for you, Yuji-kun!"

"Mission?" Yuji sputters. "What about the exchange event?" Yuji sets his bag down and gives Kagome the puppy dog face.

"No, no. Gome-chan can't save you." Gojo huffs, his resolve crumbling away like the sugar cookies he snuck in for breakfast. "Aw, c'mon. I haven't even said what the mission is." What a traitor his student is turning out to be. As if getting Kagome on his side will change Gojo's stance.

"If it involves fixing the wall, then you can do it. Yuji-kun shouldn't have to clean up after you." She brushes by him; the scent of lavender consumes him. Well, fuck. Alright, he muses, perhaps Yuji getting Kagome on his side was the way to go.

"Yeah!" Yuji fist pumps the air and skips past. "I can't wait to see everyone again!"

"You can't just walk up," Gojo says, kicking the door shut, "it has to be a surprise!" He claps his hands at the excitement painted on Yuji's face. "Everyone will fall out on the floor, seeing you–their long-lost comrade back from the dead. It will be enough to–"

"Stop world hunger!" They both exclaim out. Yuji launches himself at Gojo, rubbing his face along his. They crackle. Yuji lets out a couple of snorts that only send Gojo into another laughing fit. His stomach aches from laughing so much. Gojo bends down and grabs a hold of Yuji's leg, flipping him upside down as he levitates them both in the air.

"Kagome-san, are you going to watch?" Yuji asks upside down as Gojo swings him back and forth with one hand.

"Of course, she'll be there! First, we have to get the introductions out of the way and then the event will actually start this afternoon." Gojo tosses Yuji onto the couch and floats back down. He thrusts his arms open. "Jealous? I can swing you around too." He walks forward, pokes Kagome with one long finger on her cheek. She puffs her cheeks out and grabs ahold of his hand. Warmth blossoms in his chest. The loud sound of Yuji clearing his throat breaks the trance. Gojo takes a step back. He should ask her sometime when she started wearing Lavender scented perfumes.

"I'm gonna go lie down for a bit. You two have fun," Kagome says, picking up their discarded suitcase. Her skin is a tad bit too pale for his liking, though that could just be from the lack of sleep. Deep down, he knows that it's silly, and Naoya clearly repulsed Kagome. But when they got back to the hotel room, all he could think about was how he needed more from her–more of her.

He'll have to send Ijichi to pick Kagome up later in time for the event to start. Or he could just wrap and pick her up himself. It would be more dramatic if he just popped up with her on his arm, then having Ijichi drop her off. Gojo waits until she disappears from his sight and he hears the bedroom door close to address Yuji.

"Before we go, and I put you in a box," Gojo says, reaching into his pocket and grabbing a hold of the newly wrapped cursed finger. He wanted to come up with an elaborate: Oh, there's a curse over there, go exorcise it Yuji. And then bam, Yuji would find the cursed finger. A sound plan if he had the time to put it into motion.

"Why are you putting me in a box?" Yuji asks, leaning back on the couch. "Oh! Is that how I'll make my entrance? We could wrap it up, and I could jump out."

"Yes! But first, the foxes gave me a little present for you." He holds out the wrapped finger. Yuji scrunches up his face but takes the object anyway.

"The last time you got me a gift, I nearly died," Yuji says, unwrapping the sutras. "Nooo," he bemoans.

"It's not that bad. Are you saying you'd rather eat the ones that are all angry-looking?" Gojo crosses his arms. He tilts his head, listening to what sounds like the shower going. Maybe he should go check on her before he heads out?

"Uh yeah, these pale ones burn on the way down," Yuji says, taking a deep breath and swallowing the cursed finger. "Why?" Yuji asks, his hands grip his throat as he bends over. His skin flashes with Sukuna's markings and then fades away. His skin pales and then flushes red, as if his body can't decide on how it wants to handle what it just digested. Yuji coughs and struggles to right himself.

"Ayy, you didn't die though!" Gojo snaps his fingers and pretends to shoot at the glaring red eye of Sukuna on Yuji's cheek. A minuscule amount of guilt brews in his gut over how the purified fingers are causing Yuji pain, but the more rational side of him reminds him that every finger Kagome can purify is a win for them.

"Sensei, you're the worst."

Gojo waves a hand in the air, brushing off the accusation. "Ready to get in the box?"

Yuji falters under the glare of Megumi and Nobara. He isn't sure what to make of the talking panda–though after spending time with a bunch of fox demons over the weekend, a talking panda really isn't that far-fetched. The white-haired boy that only speaks in onigiri ingredients, though – that, that is a little weird. "How long do I have to hold this?" he asks, slinking further down as he holds the board up.

"I can't believe you've been alive this whole time," Nobara says, her fist-shaking. Yuji tries to melt into the flooring. Maybe if he could just disappear quietly, she won't hit him. "I mean, I almost shed a thug tear." She pretends to wipe a tear from her eye. Panda pats her back and Yuji still can't get over the talking panda.

"Salmon," Inumaki says, nodding his head.

"Have you been with sensei this whole time?" Megumi speaks up. At least he isn't glaring anymore. Yuji would take Megumi's indifference any day.

"Kagome-san too. I lived with them." Yuji sets the board down and stands up. The green-haired girl–Maki regards him coolly. Her indifference is colder than the special chocolate chip supreme brownie rush sundae he had on the trip.

"Who's Kagome?" Panda asks.

"Sensei's girlfriend," Megumi replies.

"Girlfriend!" the others shout. Yuji blinks. Is it really that crazy for Gojo-sensei to be in a relationship? Maki looks disgusted, Nobara is indifferent, Inumaki is scratching his head, Panda–well he just looks like a…. panda, and Megumi just looks over it all.

"Kagome-san is coming by later to watch the event," Yuji says. Megumi looks behind him. "Do you not want Kagome-san to watch?"

"He just doesn't want to give Buyo Jr back," Nobara says, tucking some stray hairs back behind her ear.

"That freaky cat thing belongs to Gojo's girlfriend?" Maki scoffs.

"He isn't freaky."

"Pandas are better."

"Salmon."

"Guys," Yuji starts, but they ignore him, leaving him to trail after them. The sun is bright, and the weather is just perfect. Now if only he could get the gang to get off the subject of how freaky Buyo Jr is. "Shouldn't we come up with a game plan? I don't actually know what we're doing."

"Sensei never told you?" Megumi asks.

"No, not really."

They all let out a series of groans and bring him into a huddle. Happiness fills him, and he can't stop smiling. He can't wait to go all out with his friends and show sensei and Kagome-san how far he's come.

[sagaofstardustmkg]

he says he will never die. he dances in light and shadow and he is a great favorite. he says he will never die. | arianna

That piranha smile is so brilliant that Janelle can’t help but mirror it — faintly, with tears still drying on her cheeks, but with her own scuffed and rusted-over shine still present enough to catch the light. 

His magic has been an enormous headache throughout the loops. Not as bad as Fio’s, because nobody could be as bad as Fio had been when freshly resurrected, but close. He’d stand around at a party cursing people, and they’d start stumbling and dropping things, and then they’d Final Destination their way into a bloodbath as improbable as it was horrifying. 

Full of improbabilities, is Amon. Improbably insightful for a person so frivolous, impossibly warm for a person who proclaims himself sworn to the cause misery. It’s wonderful.

She addresses their questions out of order, starting with the one she’s able to answer most quickly: Bo’s.

“No offerings,” she says firmly. “I’m not payin’ to get back somebody who was stolen. No trades, either, except the only thing in this world I own fair and whole.”

Her life. She makes sure not to look at Caleb as she says it. 

“And only if I have to. You’ll understand if I’m not of a mind to bargain. I’m of a mind to slip in and Mission Impossible that shit. Keep her from knowing I was there 'til it's too late.

“The feelings were fuel for us. Faeries were the first to realize the magic in other creatures’ emotions, but what Caleb and I figured out is — anyone can use it if they have a way of capturing it. What is a spell? It’s a feeling. It’s energy. It’s an intention focused outward and sent into the world. So if we collected it all up every loop and distilled it into a usable form, we could use it to make y’all that much more whole in the next one.”

Energy can’t be created or destroyed? Sorry, thermodynamics nerds. We’re at magic school. When you can rewind time, you can stockpile a hundred — or, well, sixty-nine — lives’ worth of energy and carry it over to the next one. Janelle had once attempted to articulate it to Caleb using the phrase new-game plus, which led to a five-minute derail before he agreed that it was, in fact, fitting.

“When I went in for Adelaide, the queen — she proposed games.” Her voice breaks a little. “She made demands. But not songs. She’s.“

She cuts herself off. 

“Faeries love us and hate us because we have things they don’t. We age. We change. We create. We surprise ‘em. A faerie can only ever be exactly the thing she was at the   moment she was born into being. And Dionaea was born to be a queen, and to have everything she wished whenever she wished it, and to hurt people ‘cause it pleased her to do it.”

Janelle purses her lips together.

“Imagine bein’ that. Imagine havin’ that hunger in your heart and that certainty the universe exists just to feed it. And then imagine close five hundred years alone, trapped in a hole with other things that can only ever be what they’ve always been. That can’t give you what you need, no matter how much time you spend forcin’ them to try. That can’t write new songs, or do new things. Feel human feelings.

“Her askin’ that man for a new song — was her tryin’ to get something new after however-many years wearing out the last new thing she got, but I figure it was also her trying to feed that hunger by behaving like she used to. When —“ her mouth twists “— when the sea had more fish than water, and the sky had more birds than clouds, and all she had to do was open her mouth and wait for a meal to wander in.

“What I saw when I was there is a thing crazed with starvation but still tryin’ to act like royalty. That’s what I saw. If she hadn’t been spooked by the spark of protection magic in me or thought it was funny to hurt Adelaide by sending me away, she would have used me to the last drop. No deals. No enough. There’s no enough for a thing like that.”

There’s another poem by Yeats that occurs. She and Caleb had considered it for use at one point but opted against it. Too religious. And too cliche. It’s easily the most famous thing he ever wrote.

A long silence follows that last pronouncement. Finally, she looks to Mari.

“Only Juneau knows what the focus is. She built this place. And I don't believe she's ever needed to pass it on to anybody else.”

Her gaze shifts.

“Isn’t that right, Lady Juneau?”

[abyssaldespair]

For most of his lifetime, it seemed as if death couldn’t touch him. Obito survived through impossible events; getting run over by a semi, being stuck in the middle of shootings on many occasions, being able to withstand unfathomable amounts of drugs in his body. He had luck in his bad luck, like a curse, he couldn’t die…. Until now.

One day, he woke up from another night of astronomical drug intake; he has struggled with addictions since his teenage years. Since that morning, everything started to change. First came the realisation that he wasn’t craving the drugs anymore, he was quite happy about that, but then came the food, nothing he ate was filling. A constant hunger… Then came the smell. People around him started throwing comments, Obito smelled like decay. Bothersome, disgusting, no amount of showers or perfume could make it go away and it just kept getting worse.

One day he woke up bloody, in a dark place with no recollections on how he got there. Flesh and blood filling his hands, his mouth, his stomach; the bliss. The terror. He ate somebody. After that, the decaying smell nearly entirely got away.... And went back with the hunger. It always comes back. The year that followed was then filled with attempts after attempts at taking his own life, it seemed he couldn’t die, he was already dead.

Perhaps he’s been cursed to wander this earth forever, even in death. He envies people he eats, they never come back. His old life now behind him, Obito walks the world of the living aimlessly, always keeping an eye open for a cure.

It’s been two weeks since his last meal and the hunt for a new body has started. He tries to keep out of densely populated areas, partly for his own dignity; he hates when people view him as what he is, a zombie. Sighing, Obito looks around at his new surroundings. Somehow, something is attracting him there, it just smells good… But what is this place? Why does this trashy warehouse smell that good? He really just left a nice and welcoming empty yacht at the old port to come to this shit hole.

“Am I stupid…?” The Uchiha mumbles to himself as he tries his hand on the rusty doorknob of the first door he meets. He barely has time to turn around at the sound of footsteps approaching before his head swings forward from a powerful hit, his whole body falling limp on the damp concrete. Another hit, he sees a part of his skull fly off, lets out a grunt and… Everything becomes dark.

Finally, some fucking rest.

Not for long.

The faint sound of a popular song played on an old radio eventually brings the zombie back to consciousness, a faint steam coming off of his head as a supernatural force regenerates and heals his missing parts. The next thing he notices is the cold. He’s laying on something uncomfortably cold and hard and the breeze he’s feeling must mean he’s been stripped from his clothes.

Slowly, he opens his eyes. His right arm twitch in an attempt to raise and block the blinding light he’s met with. “Augh!” Obito turns his head quickly to shy away from it and in doing so, he notices a few things. First, there’s someone playing with his inside, hands deep in his open belly. “What the fuck!?” Then, there’s the organs in the container next to his head. Oh… His teeth loudly and repeatedly snap together a few times as his instinct kick in, wanting nothing else but this heart in his mouth.

Or perhaps that person, he could eat her too, she must be terrified now that her victim just woke up. Obito twists his hands in the restraints, wide eyes now staring at the pink haired woman. “Are my insides interesting?” He takes a breath in, his cut ribs expanding gruesomely like fingers pushing out of his peeled skin, only one lung responding to it; the other being detached of the proper tissues. “Have you found the holy grail in there ya fucking weirdo?”

Starter for @abyssaldespair

It’s been a few weeks since her last victim. Sakura had been trying to space them out as to make it harder to track her. But she had clients waiting on organs, and she was always one to keep customers happy. So that meant, someone else had to die that night.

The recent disappearances, paired with bodies being found void of organs had caused the whole city to be tense with fear. Anyone could be a target. There wasn’t any specific type of person Sakura targeted. Besides sometimes, she would target people that had gotten on her nerves that day, or wronged her in some manner. Killing went from being just another job to an enjoyable hobby she used to get back at the world that wronged her. If anything, they all should be thanking her for taking out the trash. Putting them for better use as a bag of organs. Organs that could go to the sick, and those who really needed them.

Sakura was good at twisting things in her mind to make it sound like what she was doing was actually a good thing. But deep down, she knew she was just sick.

An alert went off of her security, her eyes moving over to the screen to see someone stumbling around in the outside of her base. Sakura wasn’t stupid enough to do her business from her home, so instead, she did her work in an old warehouse no one used anymore. No one came this far out of the city because of crime rates. Something Sakura took advantage of. With the way this man was stumbling about, Sakura was assuming he was on some sort of drugs. Would explain why he was way out here. Probably too high to consider the dangers of being all the way out here.

Well she was looking for a new victim…

He was as good as any. She was sure no one would miss him. 

Getting up from her desk, she grabbed a simple bat. Well not entirely simple. Blades and nails stuck out of it, and there was already dried blood on it meaning she’s already used it before. Sneaking out of the front of the building, Sakura quietly crept up on the man from behind. Just as she got close enough, she swung the bat, cracking him in the back of the head, knocking him to the ground. Before he had a chance to get up, or cause a fuse, Sakura began beating him over the head over and over with the bat. Crushing his skull, flinging chunks of brain matter around along with blood. After he was no longer moving, Sakura took notice at how odd the color of his blood was. She has never seen blood this dark before, and fuck did this guy smell. He smelled like he'd already been rotting before she killed him. And now his nasty, stinky blood was all over her.

Great.

She needed a shower.

But first, she needed to get his ass inside and onto her surgical table. Sakura just grabbed him by the legs and dragged him. Cursing a bit at how heavy he was, calling him a fat ass. She thought drugs made people thinner??? 

It took a bit longer to get him inside than she expected, but managed. Just flopping his gross ass onto the table, and strapping down his arms and legs just to secure him. Sakura walked away for a brief moment to clean up the mess outside. Just so no one sees it and starts poking around. Can never be too careful. She just dumped the chunks of brain and skull into a trashcan. No use to her.

Sakura washed up her hands and pulled on some gloves and a face mask. Hoping the mask would dampen the smell a little bit. She flipped on the radio in passing for some background noise,

“Okay, Stinky, let's see if you have any worthwhile organs.”

The pink haired woman pulled over the tray of tools, along with a tray to put the organs temporarily. She cut him open autopsy style, then used some pliers to crack open his ribs so she could have a full view of his insides. His blood was still a sickly dark color. In which she’s never seen. She hoped that didn’t mean all the organs were trash. 

Starting with his heart, Sakura hummed to the music as she carefully cut it out of him, then dropped it on the tray. Next she started working on his lungs. She was so hyper focused on the task of plucking the organs out of him, that she didn’t notice how his head was healing…

[kashimos-hajime]

definition of a good boy | a.a.

summary: literally you just peg the FUCK out of armin arlert. that’s it. and he looks real fucking pretty taking it.

WARNINGS: smut (18+), switch!reader (but majority femdom), switch!armin (majority sub <3), PEGGING, edging, anal fingering ahgnfkld, safe word (not used), oral (fem-receiving), overstim, praise kink, minor dacryphilia bc that shit HITS pairing: armin arlert x fem!reader word count: 3.7k

a/n: if armin no like peg, why he look like THAT last episode? ANYWAY this is who i represent now. just,,, pegging men and making them cry

crossposted on ao3

You wonder how many times Armin’s thought about this before. Or even, the first time at least. 

Was it when you rode him until he was crying for relief, your hands around his throat and your lips ravaging his own? Or maybe that time you had riled him up until he had you pinned in an alleyway just outside a fucking embassy, panties swept aside by the crook of his fingers and cock sheathed inside your wet folds as you cried out into his shoulder.

Which in itself was a feat. It’s probably the most difficult thing in the world to irritate Armin Arlert to the point where he wants to fuck the attitude out of you, and it had started with a dress that had a slit up to your thigh, and you tugging at his tie in the middle of his conversations, and ended with bruised collarbones, jelly legs, and fucking Connie texting you, WOW GOOD JOB!!!!! SASHA OWES ME TWENTY.

But you digress. You could probably pinpoint a million times he’s thought about it, a million times more when you have. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Armin Arlert is laid out right in front of you, flushed, sweating, eyes closed shut and mouth shamelessly open as you jack him off. His cheeks are red, the blush spreading down his neck and chest, but nothing compares to the shade of his lips as you swallow down his moan, tongue dipping into his mouth. Your other hand pins down his shoulder as he lets out a soft whine, and you smile, drawing back just as quickly as you came.

“You look so pretty, baby,” you whisper, brushing the hair fanning across his forehead back. The golden strands glimmer in the warm light of their room as Armin lets out another strangled noise when you squeeze the tip of his cock, the precum warm underneath your palm. “You think you’re ready?”

“Yeah.” His hands are on your back, fingers scratching the skin and sending shivers down your spine, yet now, one travels to the back of your neck and pulls you down for another deep kiss. Their mouths meet messily and his other hand trails down to your hips, your thighs by his waist, and squeezes. “I’m ready. I trust you.”

Pulling back, your gut clenches and you wish you’d taken up his offer to ride the edge off on his thigh, but you’d been so excited that you had refused. Now, nervous energy mixes with the heady arousal surrounding them you pull off of him, fingers giving one last pump to his hard cock. Sitting aside with the lube, you watch as Armin rolls over, revealing a muscled back ripe with tension and you immediately crawl over to him.

“Tense?”

“Nervous, yeah.” His fingers dig into the bedsheets as you place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. His blond hair tickles the apple of your cheek and you situate yourself right over him. Squeezing a sizeable amount of lube onto your pointer and third finger, you smear it down to your base knuckles and glance at Armin again. His cheek is pressed against the mattress, his sedated face betraying the hunger in those blue eyes. His hips twitch against the blankets almost imperceptibly but you let it slide—they both need a moment to just…

“Safe word?” you ask.

“Conch,” he replies dutifully. “Don’t worry so much or I’ll start to worry.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you or for you to hate this.”

“The most important thing is that we tried it, alright?” He reaches back to grab your hand, and you look down at his fingers wrapping around your wrist. Twisting to hold onto him, you kiss his fingers before he lets go, resumes the slow grind against the mattress and you watch, transfixed at the rolls of his hips. Reminded of the slick glistening down your thighs, you clench your legs together as a soft moan is muffled by Armin’s face buried in the sheets. His knuckles are white as his thrusts grow frantic, but they both know that nothing on this bed is enough friction for what they both want.

Too many nights with disappointing outcomes have taught them better—silk is good for hair and skin only, it seems.

“On your knees,” you murmur, and he freezes, face turning slowly to reveal blissed out face and a panting mouth. Stomach fluttering at how obedient he is, you situate yourself right behind him as he rises to his knees and elbows and you spot the wet stain where his precum had soaked into the sheets. Smiling, you rise up on your knees, lean over, and kiss his spine, settling a hand on the small of his back. “Relax, baby.”

Your fingers slip between his cheeks and rub along the hole, the heat emanating from his skin incinerating. Gently, you sink your fingers in and he lets out a choked noise at the stretching as you scissor slowly to give him time to get used to the burning. His fingers sink into the mattress, claw-like, and his back tenses up but you lean forward, running a soothing hand between his shoulder blades.

“Are you okay, baby?” you whisper, the resistance making you pause so he can get used to it. He lifts his head, gasping before nodding to the wall.

“I’m okay.” Forehead to the sheets again. “Keep going.”

Kissing his hip, you nod and push forward as your hand on his back spreads out, and you feel the moment he relaxes because something inside him eases, too. Your fingers sink in despite how tight it is, near-choking as his legs twitch against your thighs. You watch the back of his head keenly, catch the speedy rise and fall of his shoulders as you slowly draw your fingers in and out, getting him used to the sensation.

Tiny sounds escape his mouth as he rests his cheek against the bed, his sharp gasps whenever you push in deeper than before music to your ears and to the growing drip of arousal between your legs.

It’s when Armin’s legs shoot out from underneath him, his whole body collapsing and a loud moan comes out of him that you really snap awake. Your hand ripped out from between his asscheeks, you jump back, eyes widening in fear and you crawl up so you can spot his face. His eyes are wide enough that you can see a ring of white around his blue, blue eyes, and he’s coated in a fine layer of sweat over his pink cheeks. A hand is slapped over his mouth and you hear his raspy pants through his nose, desperate and rapid as you lower yourself to his eye level.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” you ask but he lifts a wet hand from his mouth, and you watch slowly as he grabs your wrist tightly. Lube from your fingers drips onto your hand as he yanks you close.

“Why’d you stop?” he groans. “If that’s how it feels every time I hit your g-spot, I wish we started this sooner.”

Electricity zaps through your chest and your lips pull into an incredulous smile as he lets go of your wrist and cups your neck, pulling you down into an open-mouthed kiss and you moan into his mouth as he pushes himself up onto an arm, tongue exploring your cheeks, his hand sliding down your back. It’s decidedly slow, unpretentious, intimate, and you remind yourself that there’s still a task at hand, no matter how persuading Armin can be with his eyes, hands, tongue, or otherwise.

Parting, your heart pounds like a damned drum as he squeezes your ass but you pluck his hand off of you, pushing him back down onto all fours.

“Elbows and knees, Arlert. I’m not finished with you yet,” you murmur and you see the shiver in his body at the idea. He does as he’s told, lowering himself until his face is against the mattress and his ass is up in the air, and you migrate to his end again, through the molasses air until you’re where you were before. 

A hand on the small of his back, you ease your fingers in again, and this time, when he lets out a sharp whine, you know not to give up but to give in, push against the spongey flesh at your fingers that sends his hips jolting back into your palm. Peering at a pretty blond head, you frown when you see his palm has found its place over his mouth again and without thinking, your hand on his back trails to his ass, giving it a light slap before squeezing the flesh.

“Let me hear you, pretty boy,” you croon as his back arches with a choked ah! that fills your stomach with butterflies. Pushing down on his spine, with every whine, moan, desperate more, every pleading deeper, baby, you reward him with another thrust of your fingers that makes Armin writhe with pleasure you can feel everywhere in his body. Heat licking at your own face, you get so lost in the rocking of his hips, the sheets twisting under Armin’s fists as he tries to chase his own high, that you nearly miss the signs of his coming orgasm.

Classic: he starts swearing like a sailor.

“Fuck—hngh!—C’mon, baby. Come on. I’m so close.”

And the panting that’s so noticeably heavy and fast that it’s a wonder he can even breathe with how much he’s begging and squirming by the pressure of your fingers alone. 

Those two things echo in your head as you pull your fingers out just as he stands on the brink of his eyes rolling back from the black-out euphoria he must’ve been on the edge on because when you stop, he lets out the loudest fucking curse you’ve ever heard in your life.

No, fuck! Baby!” His whines are music to your ear as he buries his face in the silk. “Baby, I was so fucking close! You, you—“

“I? I?” you tease, a thrill igniting underneath your heart at how he sweats and arches underneath your hand. “You’re just so pretty for me all needy, Armin. Not every night I get to edge you.”

“It could be,” he pleads, his hips lowering to the mattress again as he reaches forward for a pillow to shove between his legs but you smack the hand away as you stretch for the nightstand. “Baby, just let me cum. Let me cum and I’ll let you edge me every night. Please, please, please—“

“Armin,” you censure, although the words are enticing and you know if you brought it up to him outside the bedroom tomorrow morning, he’d blush and have to accept his own vow. But you’re not that cruel. “When have you ever given in to my pleading?”

Maybe you’re worse. You don’t mind that at all.

“Sometimes, I do. When you’ve been a good girl.” His hips begin to rub against the silk sheets as you grab the strap-on and buckle it up comfortably around your hips. Armin’s oblivious to it all and you let him have his moment of faux relief, pretending you don’t notice. He’s going to need the breather after you’re done with him. “And I’ve been good. I swear it.”

“Really?” Grabbing the lube bottle that’s been lost in the sheets, you squirt a hefty amount all over the silicone and run your hand up and down the shaft, warming it up. “I don’t think trying to fuck yourself on silk sheets like you’re a prince without a whore is going to help you much now is it, hm?”

His hips freeze and you chuckle to yourself, the power trip making you dizzy as you hum appreciatively and lean over him, the tip of the strap leaving a wet trail from between his cheeks down his spine. Your lips find the knob of his spine, mouthing at it warmly as his entire body goes taut and you reach blond hair, nosing it away and sucking a mark onto his neck. He lets out a soft moan, lifting his head and reaching up a hand to wrap around the back of your neck. 

Bracing yourself, you smile and find the sensitive spot right underneath his jaw, biting gently.

“Armin,” you whisper huskily against the shell of his ear, nose drawing along his temple. “What’s that again about being a good boy?” You return your mouth to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, grinning wickedly when his back arches and he lets out a helpless whine. Inhaling the smell of clean soap, you crane your head to look down between your bodies. He’s laid out bare in front of you, and you wiggle your hips, nestling the strap back between his ass cheeks, just to get him used to the sensation.

Tearing yourself away and back up, you cup his thighs and pull him back up to his knees.

“Anyway,” you continue, as if remarking on the weather, “I don’t know if you do deserve this anymore. Seeing as if every time I stopped touching you, you’ve gone to rutting the bed like I wouldn’t notice.” The tip presses against his hole and you feel his shiver. You tilt your head. “Nothing to say now, huh.”

“No, no, please. Fuck! I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I really promise, baby.”

“Right.” You don’t believe him, but nonetheless, you smile. “Why don’t you prove it and relax?” A soft noise keening from his mouth, he nods and lowers himself deeper. Counting silently to yourself, you wait until he gets comfortable.

When he does, you set a hand on his hip, another on his back, and slowly push in. 

“Ah!” His head snaps up, knuckles blanching as he grasps the sheets. Breathing quickening, he stiffens but you hush him quietly, stroking soothing shapes into his skin. You slowly ease out again and he exhales. A heat sears through your chest and the urge to slip your fingers in, to push against the spongey part again until he’s begging, not for you to stop or for you to continue, but just crying begging for you, causes you to groan to yourself.

“You don’t know how pretty you look all like this, Armin,” you murmur as he shifts back and you laugh gently. “You really want this, hm?” You push back in gently, and it goes easier this time. Your hips nearly press flush against his skin as he lets out a choked noise. “Lemme hear you, yeah? God, I wanna hear you so bad, baby.”

“Hngh! Ah—“ You draw back only to sink back in again, bottoming out and you know you hit it when his elbows slide out from under him, cheek against the bed. You pause, tip pressing against the prostate until he’s blabbering, voice going raw with desperation. “Baby! Baby, baby, baby, oh God—“

Guts tightening, you bite your lip, trying to hold back your own moan as he tries to jerk back. 

“You want me to move, baby?”

“Yes! Yes, please. Please, please, please.” His hand claws at his face, caging his mouth but doing nothing to muffle any of his noise as you push harder. His eyes roll back and you smirk, pulling back. “Baby!”

“Alright, alright. Since you asked so nicely.” And you sink into him, faster this time, hitting your mark so easily that when his moans arise, it’s only incentive for you to continue thrusting, your movements sloppy but quick. Hips against his ass, your fingers dig into his hips as he begins to rock back against you, settling into an unsteady rhythm only they can begin to understand.

You watch in delicious satisfaction as Armin falls apart, raising his ass higher, sinking deeper into his chest. A soft whine rises with every movement as he gasps out, “Harder,” and you nearly fucking lose yourself in the high-pitched rasp in his voice. His voice begins to thicken when you listen, and you catch sight of his cheek, glistening with tears.

“You close, baby?” you pant at the sight. Fuck, he’s so fucking pretty; it’s otherwordly. Your hips beginning to tire, the smack and slide of their skin the only other thing you can feel besides how hard and tight he is as he nods, red lip trapped between teeth. “Yeah? You’re doing so well, you know? God, I’m so proud of you.” He lets out a whiny mhm! A harsh throbbing between your legs, you squeeze his hips. “C’mon, baby. C’mon. You’re so pretty. Pretty boy crying for me.”

“God, I love you,” he cries out, body beginning to shake as his breath hitches in his throat sharply like a ragged gasp after nearly drowning. “I love you so much. Please, let me cum. I wanna be good. Lemme be good for you.”

Lurching forward, you plunge as deep as you can into him and he lets out a hoarse wail as you sink your teeth into his side, at his ribs. Your arms wrap around his waist, holding him flush against yourself and he shudders, head raised as he claws at the sheets, riding off his own orgasm on your strap, shamelessly, with reckless abandon and you press your face into his shoulder blade, rocking with his moves.

Soft, airy moans fill the silence as he stubbornly tries to keep going as he falls back on his knees, in some yoga pose you can’t remember the name of, and you draw yourself back up, shallowly rolling your hips against his until he’s crying into his arm, ears red, cheeks red, everything red and warm and slick.

Sighing, you finally pull out and he lets out a whimper at the loss. Sitting back on your ankles, you begin to unbuckle the strap, climbing over his shaking leg to grab the towel on their nightstand. Wiping off the lube and juices from the silicone, you glance over your shoulder at your dazed boyfriend, and a soft smile pulls at your mouth as he tries to catch his breath. Back rising and falling, he wipes at his face and you chuckle, abandoning your cleaning efforts to crawl over to his face. Leaning down to kiss his cheek, you hum.

“Pretty baby,” you murmur as his blue eyes rake over your face, down your body covered in a fine layer of sweat. You lay down beside him, mirroring his position so you’re on your stomach, chest resting on your forearm. Your other hand lifts, fingers brushing through hair that falls over his eyes lazily. His irises are still blown out with lust, the residual pleasure still occupying his face in how lax his face is, how he barely keeps his eyes open. “You okay?”

“More than okay.” His voice is nothing more than a mumble as he turns to plug his eyes with his forearm and you laugh, scooting closer to kiss his ear. “I dunno if I can walk tomorrow, though.”

“I did go a bit hard on you, didn’t I?”

“’S okay. I asked for it.” He lifts his head with a cold breath, and he looks at you again. “I wanted it. So badly. You did so good, baby.”

“A-Armin—“ His name is swallowed up by his lips and you let out a noise of surprise as he cups the back of your neck. Pushing you onto your back, he deepens the kiss and their legs tangle up as his other hand runs down your side. A soft moan spills out of your mouth into his as he trails inward, exploring the slick pooling down your legs. Without a second to waste, he sinks a finger in easily to the first knuckle, curling sinfully and your legs spasm against his.

“Maybe you liked it more than me,” he hums, lifting his mouth from yours. Before you can refute that claim, he’s travelling down your body, free hand adoring every single curve and line. You let out a small protest as he slips his finger out but it’s almost instantly replaced by his mouth suctioning onto your cunt. Heat splinters through your body and your legs wrap around his head immediately.

“Fuck, Armin,” you sigh, hands buried under the pillow above your head as he laps at your slit and when you raise your head to see him peering back, you groan at the sheen covering his chin and lips. His eyes are still blown out, darkened with lust, and he dips his mouth again as the coil inside you tightens and just seeing him beneath you again has your eyes rolling back. His hand squeezes your thigh as your breath hitches and you feel it coming, harsh, white, and hot.

Chest blistering tight, your eyes flutter shut and your fingers scrape at silk as your hips rut against his face. You’re so fucking close—fuck, fuck, fuck—

“Armin!” You let out a hoarse scream as he slams a hand over your mouth and your back arches as his other hand presses your hips down. Eyes rolling back, your hands wrap around his wrist as he sucks on your clit, massages you through the crashing waves that run through your body. Legs trembling, you try to move away but he only huffs a laugh, kissing your slit before licking a stripe up. The overstimulation makes you whine, shaking as he continues to tease you out, drinking you, eating you as if you’re his last meal on death row.

His name spills out of your mouth in shameless babbles, praises about how good he is for you coming out raw as you try to catch your breath but he won’t let you. Not even for a second. 

Armin only breathes you in—hums against your soaked thighs, biting gently on the flesh, and your hands fly to your face, one over your mouth, another over your eyes as a helpless, incoherent plea spills out of you. You feel the smirk in his cheeks as he pushes himself closer and your hips nearly lift but he pulls you back down to the bed, chuckling.

“Am I good boy now?” he asks huskily against your cunt. Shivers shoot up your spine and he inhales deeply, squeezing your thighs like he’s never seen something so fuckable. “Or do I need to prove it to you again?”

[edenmemes]

resident evil village starters

❝ oh, keep growing! one day your head might actually fit your ego. ❞   ❝ running will get you nowhere. ❞     ❝ you don’t have to trust my words, but do you have any better options? ❞   ❝ you shouldn’t be out here. it’s not safe. ❞   ❝ i know you don’t like to talk about it, but can we really just forget everything and pretend it didn’t happen? ❞   ❝ well, what do you think? it’s hopeless, right? ❞ ❝ i wish it could stay like this forever. ❞   ❝ oh, such a disappointment. i thought we could join forces.  ❞ ❝ i don’t have time for this bullshit. out of my way. ❞   ❝ i don’t give a damn about your personal issues. ❞   ❝ it’s a pleasure to see you safe. ❞   ❝ just give up. flesh and blood will never win against me. ❞ ❝ quit acting so full of yourself. ❞ ❝ the clock is ticking. playtime’s over! ❞ ❝ ohhh, don’t give up! ❞ ❝ you think you can take me on? ❞ ❝ you should have never refused me.  ❞ ❝ these are the fruits of my power.  ❞ ❝ leave it alone. you are out of your depth. ❞   ❝ i’ve learned all i can from you. your worth as a lab rat has run out. ❞   ❝ no, no, this can’t be the end for me! ❞   ❝ i can’t escape from here... i can’t do anything! ❞ ❝ what are you talking about? you think this is a game? ❞   ❝ don’t get cocky. i’d kill you if you weren’t the trouble. ���   ❝ hey, do you know anything about what’s going on around here? ❞   ❝ i’m not used to relying on other people. ❞   ❝ you’re the real deal. well done.  ❞ ❝ i gotta...keep going. ❞   ❝ i think it’s time you left things in my hands. ❞   ❝ my power is leaving me! ❞   ❝ do me a favor... try to stay under the radar. ❞ ❝ you don’t get it. you don’t stand a chance by yourself. ❞ ❝ alright, alright. i guess i owe you an explanation. ❞ ❝ you must be pretty tough, huh? ❞   ❝ all your power’s done is drive you nuts. ❞   ❝ i gotta say, i’m surprised you made it this far. it’d be a shame if something happened to you now. ❞   ❝ so you finally came to see me! everyone falls for me in time. ❞   ❝ it’s all i can spare. take it, take it! ❞   ❝ you’ve got fight, i’ll give you that. ❞   ❝ i didn’t want to keep it from you. i didn’t want to lose you again. ❞   ❝ i’d kill you if you weren’t worth the trouble. ❞   ❝ is there something you’re not telling me? come on, talk to me. ❞   ❝ you can hear it, can’t you? someone’s waiting for you. ❞   ❝ oh, careful what you wish for. ❞   ❝ i don’t want to die. oh, it hurts so much. ❞   ❝ don’t look at me that way. ❞   ❝ i told you to sit down. ❞   ❝ you’re the reason ___ doesn’t love me. ❞   ❝ hey, kiss me? ❞   ❝ if it’s for you, i would do anything. ❞   ❝ come on, it’s not that much further! ❞   ❝ you’re the only one to see me in this form. ❞   ❝ ugh, my temper got away from me. ❞   ❝ play with me some more. ❞   ❝ trying to get on my good side? ❞   ❝ i don’t know if it’s the scent of the flowers, but i feel light headed. ❞   ❝ in all my years, i’ve never been this overjoyed. ❞   ❝ look forward to what i have in store for you. ❞   ❝ mmm, that smells good. what’s that? ❞   ❝ you really should have taken my deal. ❞ ❝ truth hurts, don’t it?  ❞ ❝ i’ve waited so long. but dreams really can come true. ❞   ❝ you coward! come out and face me. ❞   ❝ quit hiding, asshole. i’m not letting you get out of this.  ❞ ❝ i won’t let you have it. even if you beg. ❞   ❝ this is my territory, and i won’t let you leave. ❞   ❝ damn, i’m so cold. my legs won’t work. ❞   ❝ local wine, too. but if you’re going to keep sulking all evening, maybe you shouldn’t have any. ❞ ❝ it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you. ❞   ❝ you’re the last asshole in my way, aren’t you? ❞   ❝ well, at least we’re together. ❞   ❝ hey, now. think positively, all right? we talked about this. ❞   ❝ come now, don’t be shy. show me your terror. ❞   ❝ i would’ve sliced you to ribbons if they hadn’t stopped me. ❞   ❝ it’s only a riddle if you don’t know the answer. ❞   ❝ shouldn’t we face what happened there so we can live our lives without it hanging over our heads? ❞   ❝ rest while you can, because i will hunt you, and i will break you. ❞   ❝ this village is full of monsters. we can’t fight them! there’s too many. ❞   ❝ a dead body? wait...there’s more... ❞   ❝ you’re a lot like your father, you know. ❞   ❝ it barely flinched when i shot it. i feel like it’s toying with me. ❞   ❝ it’ll be fine. it’ll be fine. it’ll be fine. ❞   ❝ listen. you’re being played.  ❞ ❝ too bad you’ll pay for it...with your life. ❞   ❝ please won’t you stay with me? forever? ❞   ❝ you are lucky to die before your child. ❞   ❝ quiet now, child! adults are talking. ❞   ❝ there’s nothing wrong with my memory. you’re just being paranoid. ❞   ❝ this is...this is just too much. ❞   ❝ awww, you’re blushing. ❞   ❝ how can a man be ‘almost’ dead? that’s a question for the wise. ❞   ❝ what kind of sick medieval shit is this? ❞   ❝ i’ve spent a lifetime creating this moment...and you try to take it away from me? ❞   ❝ i’m sick of fighting you! ❞   ❝ why didn’t you fucking tell me right away? ❞ ❝ shut your damn hole and don’t be a sore loser! ❞   ❝ but i’m not paranoid, i’m just cautious. ❞   ❝ don’t get close to me when i’m cooking, babe. ❞   ❝ anyone who is anyone has heard of the likes of you. ❞   ❝ i haven’t cut open a man in a while. ❞   ❝ we moved here so that you wouldn’t have to deal with any of that, remember? ❞   ❝ why? why would you do this? ❞   ❝ i knew you would want to be involved. and this job is hard enough without civilians getting in the way. ❞ ❝ oh? you have something to say? ❞   ❝ tell me what’s out there! ❞   ❝ you’re still alive...? impressive. ❞   ❝ hey, are you listening? hey! ❞   ❝ exactly how much do you plan on annoying me? ❞   ❝ oh, no. they’re coming! ❞   ❝ do you have a gun? please tell me you have a gun. ❞   ❝ it’s not---nevermind. i’m sorry. ❞   ❝ drunk or not, you are welcome---and safe---in here. ❞   ❝ you know how to push my buttons. ❞   ❝ hey, don’t i get a say in this? ❞   ❝ you wouldn’t know proper manners if it slapped you in the face. ❞   ❝ i won’t forgive you, you bastard! ❞   ❝ why...why do you treat me the same as them? am i not your favourite? am i not special? ❞   ❝ at night, i hear wailing, as if ghosts roam the halls. ❞   ❝ quit your whining; we’re almost there! ❞   ❝ i’m afraid you can’t return to your old world any longer. ❞   ❝ how dare you bare your teeth at me. ❞   ❝ you couldn’t save them. they were already gone. ❞   ❝ in life and death, we give glory. ❞   ❝ can you even understand that humiliation?  ❞ ❝ even i can get angry. ❞   ❝ what the hell is that thing? ❞ ❝ we will meet again soon. ❞ ❝ let’s just say parts of the human imagination are better left alone. ❞ ❝ some treasures still lurk in this village. ❞ ❝ my decision is final. there will be no argument. ❞   ❝ everyone leaves me. even you. ❞   ❝ there is no safe! every sorry bastard out there has been ripped in half! ❞   ❝ come inside. the others are waiting. ❞   ❝ come with me. there’s something i have to tell you. ❞   ❝ what the hell is wrong with this place? ❞   ❝ the strong will destroy the weak. that’s the way of the world. ❞   ❝ no, we’re getting out of here --- together. ❞   ❝ but what i saw was...frightful. ❞ ❝ i suppose it’s what they call ‘the beauty of the grotesque’. ❞   ❝ you taught me so much and for that i will be forever in your debt. ❞   ❝ it is my curiosity that ties me to this place. ❞   ❝ please let me know if you’d like to strengthen your weapons. ❞ ❝ you’ll pay if i find out this is a lie. ❞ ❝ speaking of foolish questions, who --- what are you? ❞   ❝ if i don’t kill them then my life will never be my own. ❞   ❝ you are abominable. your deceit knows no bound. ❞   ❝ quit holding out, and get to the damn point! ❞ ❝ you’re the one who’s cursed. ❞ ❝ i hope you will be able to achieve your goal someday, too. ❞   ❝ that is why i had to leave you. i will regret never telling you goodbye. ❞   ❝ if i had but a little more time, i know i might be able to turn the tides of this battle. ❞   ❝ i can hear it shuffling about outside. ❞   ❝ and now you even try to steal my property? how dare you? ❞   ❝ ugh, just another simple little manthing. ❞   ❝ oh, good. i was just thinking of ways to pass the time. ❞ ❝ nowhere to go but up. ❞   ❝ where are you? show yourself! ❞ ❝ not without me, it’s too dangerous. ❞ ❝ shit, that was close. ❞   ❝ i heard explosions. what happened? ❞ ❝ you’ve dirtied my dress! ❞   ❝ you’re my daughter...now act like it! ❞   ❝ i don’t think we will make it through winter at this rate. ❞   ❝ the wounds are severe. i won’t last much longer. ❞   ❝ will you please stop talking in riddles? ❞   ❝ goddamn. it really is you. ❞ ❝ you sure of this? your body is, well, falling apart. ❞       ❝ how long have i been out? ❞   ❝ keep your distance. do not move until i give the order. ❞   ❝ i’ve got a tough guy here, i need some back-up! ❞   ❝ if my mom saw this shit, she’d think she’d died and gone to hell. ❞   ❝ shut your fucking hole! ...sorry about that. ❞   ❝ who are you? who sent you? ❞   ❝ please, be well. ❞   ❝ there’s more than we thought. watch out. ❞ ❝ to hunger...is to be alive. ❞   ❝ goddammit! why is everyone dying on me? ❞   ❝ hey! hey. don’t talk like that. ❞   ❝ my word, you truly are as strong as they say! ❞   ❝ don’t you love me? ❞   ❝ oh, you didn’t think i’d let you get away, did you? ❞   ❝ taken alive? dead? which would you prefer? ❞  

[stariwrites]

Please

Pairing: Sukuna x GN! Reader (The reader is AFAB)

Warnings: Dubious Consent, Oral (Reader! Receiving), Mind break, edging, denied orgasm, monsterfucking, corruption kink, dirty talk, mean dom to soft dom Sukuna, use of little one and little sorcerer as well as pet (only twice though), forced submission just to be safe 

A/N: I had so much fun writing this and this is for @seita “Corrupt a Virgin Collab!” Thank you so much for letting me participate! All characters are 18+  and as always Minors DNI and if you do or if you’re a nameless blog I will block you instantly. 

Word Count: 2.6K

Summary: Megumi, Itadori, Nobara, Gojo, Nanami...I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to keep my promise and protect all of you. 

Debris settled over the city. You coughed, cringing at the blood that spilled from your lips at the hit you had taken. You looked around you, watching as more buildings collapsed, people screamed causing it to echo. You couldn’t find anybody no matter where you looked. Your heart raced inside your chest. 

How much longer would you be able to pull this off? Ever since Sukuna and Itadori had been separated he caused nothing but destruction. 

You watched the curse you were currently fighting rush towards you. It’s green spindles shot out only for you to dodge it in the nick of time. The wall where you had been standing in front of was nothing but a hole. You cringed. That could’ve been you.

Before you had time to recover it focused it’s sights on you again, the eight purple eyes stared directly into yours. You tried to get up again only to be met by an explosion of pain. You glanced down at your hand nursing the wound on your stomach only to see crimson seep through your fingers. Shit. 

It let out a wicked shriek, leaving your ears ringing. It charged at you again. You closed your eyes. 

Megumi, Itadori, Nobara, Gojo, Nanami...I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to keep my promise and protect all of you. 

“Protect me?” Gojo’s voice was incredulous as he tossed his head back and laughed. It had been a busy day filled with killing curses and saving people, but at the end of it all of you were able to spend time together and watch the fireworks. “I’m the strongest there is, if anything it would be me protecting you.” 

Nanami huffed at his response, proceeding to whack him upside the head. He whined, turning to Nanami no doubt to start playfully fighting him which would end in Nanami sighing in disappointment.

You could only shake your head at the two of them while Nobara scoffed, nudging your arm with a grin. “Yeah, and besides we’re all going to get stronger so we don’t need to be protected.”

Megumi nodded with a small smile which caused you to huff.

“It’s not like that!” You clenched your fists beside you, before lowering your voice. “It’s just that all of you are precious to me and I’ll do whatever it takes to not see you hurt.”

They were all speechless at your response until Itadori’s face lit up into a bright smile. “Let's do it!” He cheered, jumping into the air. “We’ll be the best group of sorcerers out there you’ll see! Let’s all protect each other.”

The six of you looked at each other with matching soft expressions, a silent agreement that you’d all make it to the very end when the first explosion fired off. Itadori shrieked at the unexpected boom that echoed in the sky causing your laughter to break the silence between each firework. 

You smiled looking back on the memory. It was fun. The people you met, the friends you gained, you wouldn’t have traded it for the world. As you anticipated the final blow one last thought flashed through your mind. You had no regrets.

An explosion of light flooded from behind your eyelids, you braced for impact but none came. Slowly, you cracked an eye open only to have your breathing hitch. Standing where the cursed spirit used to be was-

“Sukuna,” your own voice surprised you. The demon turned to you with an unamused expression.

“Think you can just die like that?” He sneered approaching you. “You fool.” 

You tried to get up, all your senses screaming to fight but you only managed to straighten your posture before wincing in pain. Broken ribs, you assumed, if not worse. “What do you want?” You managed to croak out. 

Standing above you, his eyes were filled with venom. You swallowed silently wishing the destroyed cursed spirit had taken you out. You refused to break away from his gaze while his hand moved to cup your cheek. You flinched from his touch expecting him to rip your skin away with the swipe of his talons, but instead he clicked his tongue at the action.

“Make no mistake little one, If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” His voice sent shivers down your spine, but your body relaxed at the words. You wanted to shake your head. How could that even be remotely comforting?

You couldn’t dwell on it for long because the next thing you knew you could breathe properly again. You took a deep breath in, almost choking on it. You removed your hand from your stomach only to gape in shock. 

“You,” you looked up at the demon with wide eyes. “You healed me?”

He rolled his eyes. He couldn’t stand the way humans interacted nor did he want to. He craved the chaos he created and only wanted to see more of it, but one sorcerer managed to get under his skin, you. 

You were an enigma, your cursed energy was strong, that was for certain and as obsessed as he was with Megumi there was something about you that drew him to you. Maybe it was the way he could tell you were a virgin. You had so much experience but none with another person’s touch. He thought many times about you being tied up and at his mercy while he edged you for hours causing you to cry out pleas along with his name. 

Unfortunately there was no time to act on what he wanted with him still being inside the brat, but now, now was the perfect time. 

“Why?” The question left your mouth before you could stop it. He wanted to laugh at your perplexed expression paying close attention to your lips. You didn’t realize it, but you backed yourself into a corner. 

“Oh Little Sorcerer,” he crooned mockingly. A sinister smile stretched across his face reminding you just who you were dealing with. 

Squatting down to your level, he let his eyes rove over your body, paying close attention to where your uniform was torn and wrinkled. Instinctively, you covered yourself to the best of your ability which only made him lick his lips.

“You didn’t think I did that without a price,” his voice dropped an octave, “did you?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest while you gasped. There was no way, but noticing the hunger in those eyes that held a predatory gleam you understood what he meant. You couldn’t-

“Get away from them!” Megumi shouted. His footsteps raced towards where you were. Itadori and Nobara were fast at his heels shouting for you. A ghost of a smile fell onto your face. They were okay. From what you saw the only wounds were some scratches and bruises. They would be okay. The relief quickly faded when a talon turned your chin to make you look at him once more.

His teeth were on full display. “Let’s make a contract, shall we? I won’t hurt your friends as long as you do what I want in my domain.”

You raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And what would that be?”

“I get to ruin you.”

You knew you could stall, could buy time until they could help you, but the more you waited the more people screamed.

“So little one, what will it be?” Sukuna’s voice rang heavy in your ears. You could either go with him or more people would be hurt. You purse your lips, you had two choices: either allow Sukuna to take you and buy your friends some time or wait for them and risk more people dying. 

With a deep breath you faced the demon. “If I go with you, you promise that no person, that includes jujutsu sorcerers and civilians will be harmed?”

“Of course.”

Part of you didn’t trust him, but you mulled over the deal, searching for any loopholes. Megumi, Itadori and Nobara were getting closer. 

“Time’s running out, have you made a decision?”

You looked at your friends one last time as they screamed in horror running faster. With a final breath you focused back on the king of curses. 

“I accept.”

                                   ------------------------------------------------------------

“Such a pretty little thing aren’t you?”

Obscene sounds echoed throughout the domain as you grinded against Sukuna’s tongue that resided on his abdomen. Small whimpers and broken moans spilled from your lips. Tears slid down your face while the appendage was lapping at your folds, flicking at your clit every now and again. Each grind down had your toes curling. You tossed your head back.

“Shut, ah, shut up!” You tried to shout, but it held no mirth to it. 

Sukuna smirked at your reaction. Still so fiery even after he edged you, you were a fun one that was for certain. 

He’d envisioned this moment many times before, but nothing beat the real thing. He kept your arms stretched above you with one of his hands while the other he used to cup your cheek. He lived for your expression, the way your eyelashes were grouped together with tears as you were forced to keep taking what he was giving you, completely at his mercy.

“What’s wrong little sorcerer,” he snarled. “Can’t take my tongue?” He couldn’t help but grow addicted to the breathy pants you let out as you clamped down at his words. His eyes widened, peering at you with an expression that almost looked impressed. 

“Who knew you could be such a slutty pet. Nobody’s ever touched you like this before and you’re already so fucked out, I wonder what will happen when you cum, hm?”

“Fu-fuck you,” you managed to get out between moans. You refused to give into him, wishing you had more strength in you to glare. You needed to put up a fight. 

He raised an eyebrow with a laugh. “Brat,” he dug his nails into your hips, there would be indents there for days, but he didn’t care. “You try to put up such a front, wouldn’t it feel better to give in rather than fight me? You’re so wet and you’ve been so good, so pliant for me are you sure you don’t want a reward?

The familiar coil in your stomach was about to break causing you to thrash your head back and forth. The burn was becoming painful, you didn’t know how much longer you’d last if he kept denying you. Sukuna noticed, forcing your hips to grind faster. 

“Oh? Is the little sorcerer close? Tell me, do you want to know what it’s like to cum from somebody other than you, hm?” He hummed keeping the brutal pace, watching as you heaved for breath, your eyes glossy and almost rolling back. A twisted grin morphed onto his face at the sight. 

“Don’t tell me I’ve fucked you dumb already,” he bit his lip to keep from groaning out into the domain. The reflection of the water only made you look more wrecked. “Tell me, is this what you’re going to look like when you're stretched out on my cock?”

The image alone had your toes curling. You couldn’t fight it anymore. You needed release. “M’close. M’so close. M’gonna cum. Gonna ngh gonna cum Sukuna. Sukuna,” you babbled, slurring your words.

You were almost there all you needed was one more extra push. 

Before you had time to process what was happening your hips stilled. A loud sob ripped it’s way from your throat. You couldn’t handle being denied anymore. All you could do was struggle in his hold and curse the king in front of you for torturing you like this. That’s when it registered, he was going to kill you like this. That must’ve been his plan all along.

You were about to speak, to tell him to just kill you already when he leaned closer towards you. His lips ghosted against yours. Without thinking you leaned in, desperate to feel his lips against yours, but before you could he pulled away and gazed at you.

You could see your reflection in his eyes, the way you were drooling for him, you were a mess, your eyes glossy from crying, you didn’t recognize the person staring back at you. You couldn’t remember how many times he edged you, but it was unbearable. 

“Beg me.”

Your breath caught in your throat even though you’d been expecting that. Part of you, the desperate want that curled itself into your skin and set your heart aflame wanted to cave in. Wanted so badly to finally get the release you’ve been craving all this time, but rationally you looked at the demon and whispered, “I, I can’t.”

As soon as the words were out you wanted to take them back, disappointment swam within you. You wanted to know what it was like, but the sorcerer in you couldn’t yield. You reminded yourself that you were doing this for them, but that would’ve been a lie.

 You expected Sukuna to tear you to shreds or leave you like this but instead he shushed you.

Your eyes snapped open, not even remembering when you closed them. He only rubbed your back with one of the hands that was on your hip while the other hand holding your arms set them down.

“Such a brave sorcerer, aren’t you? Even when you’re so desperate you still hold so much strength, but don’t you want to be ruined? Don’t you wish you would just be able to let go and have somebody else take the reins?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft like he was talking to something fragile, something that could break. 

“I-”

You couldn’t deny that it sounded nice, to be out of control for once, to just let yourself be ruined by Sukuna. You craved release so bad it hurt. You shuddered against him at the thought of finally being able to lose yourself in pleasure while the cool air of the domain caught up to you.

Without hesitation, Sukuna embraced you in his arms, bringing you close to his chest. You imagined that if he was human, you’d be able to hear his heart beat pressed against him like this. He caressed any inch of your body his hands could reach as he placed a chaste kiss to your temple. You settled in the warmth.

“Shh, just let me take care of you little one,” he squeezed you close before placing two set of his hands on your shoulders to pull you back. It took everything in him not to smile. He had you, he knew he had you judging by the way your face was going from conflicted to completely lax. 

“I’ll ruin you for anybody else,” the hands on your shoulders dropped down to barely touch your waist, tickling you. He began to kiss down your jaw, moving to your neck. “You could rule by my side and stay with me in this space forever, you wouldn’t have to worry about curses,” he sucked a mark causing you to whimper. “Or saving people,” his other hands moved to play with your nipples. “Or those pesky sorcerers.” 

Your mind was reeling, unable to concentrate on any coherent thought. The difference from being so rough to being soft was messing with your head. You were losing yourself, but still tried so desperately to hang on, to not give in. You had friends you needed to protect, but all of that was fading away. 

Sukuna noticed and as he sucked on your earlobe, he used the hands tickling you to meet your hips, positioning you over his cock. “All you have to say is-”

“Please.”

[llamagoddessofficial]

What if, before Sans could give her the necklace, another god decided to curse her into another form? Like maybe a monstrous beast? There's plenty of deities strong enough to do things like that for even the pettiest of reasons and she's low enough on the tiers that whoever cursed her would probably immediately forget who she was and what she was turned into. That's all frivolous knowledge now- punishment has been given, end of story. Except it's not- Sans doesn't know where MC is or what happened to her and in her case she might be hunted down by heroes questing for glory

Oh no

anon

why'd you do this to me

now i have to write this

---

You don’t even know what you did.

The cave was damp. It was small, it was cold, and despite the fact that all the animal residents had fled the moment you arrived it still stank heavily with the foul collective odours of fur, sweat, faeces and death, the stench permeating the chamber from every crack and crevice that led further underground. It was pitch black, a swallowing darkness... but it wasn’t like you noticed, giant form curled in a corner, matted fur soaked with so much mud and miasma that if it weren’t for your strained breathing you easily could’ve been mistaken for part of the cave floor.

Every monster needed a weakness a hero could use to overcome it. And yours... yours was your near-blindness. Once your sight left the smells and sounds of the world around you became overwhelming, terrifying, painful, forcing you to flee in a panic to the nearest damp hole where everything was muffled as much as possible.

I don’t even know what I did.

Claws. Teeth so big you could no longer shut your mouth. Scales and fur, leather skin, a body so huge you could barely carry yourself, and a horrifying overbearing sensation of fear and hunger. You knew what happened to monsters- the role they played in the legends. Your job was to terrorise innocent people until you died at the hands of the hero. Nobody was going to help you... nobody was going to stop long enough to realise the guttural sounds you were making were merely cries for help.

...

A new smell. At the entrance to your cave. It was... a blue smell, cold and smooth and carrying in on the wind, coming closer. The movement and the presence of someone else alarmed you, frightened you- you dragged yourself to your feet in confusion, forcing your heavy body up on shaking and aching legs, stirring up the rotten air as you turned to face the intruder, jaws hanging open.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

“... oh... oh no...” 

The voice was... softer than you anticipated. Gentler. You were bigger than it- you looked down at where it was coming from. But you still hated it.

It was a new feeling you’d been growing accustomed to... in the same way you’d grow accustomed to an infectious mould in a room you were trapped in. Hatred. Hatred toward anything that moved. You were alone, in pain, not understanding what you did to deserve this or why nobody had come to you when you screamed as you transformed. Your friends, your siblings, your mother...

But then again, she’d be ecstatic about this, wouldn’t she? Now she’s famous- the mother of a monster. If I die at the hands of a stupid little God or prince, she has her place in history.

Suddenly, you were imagining clamping your jaws around her torso and tossing her like a ragdoll. You were imagining putting teeth through the ribcages of your siblings. The thoughts brought you joy.

“shh... don’t do that.” The voice said, reminding you it was there. “thinking that way is feeding the curse.”

It started coming closer. You could sense something, an icy shadow falling over you- your jaws cracked open further and a snarl fell out alongside a steaming breath. The sound was so horrible, so ugly, so deep... but then again, every sound you’d made so far had been like that. You were starting to forget what it felt like to open your mouth and hear a voice.

The growl didn’t deter it. It kept coming. The closer it got, the more agitated you became; it didn’t feel like any God you knew. It felt ancient and dark in a scary and overwhelming way, how did it feel bigger than you even though the voice came from somewhere you had an advantage on? In your head, it was like a huge shadowy monster even bigger than yourself was pressing toward you. You started to back away, into the edge of the cave, snarling getting louder... filth-covered hackles raising in warning. It just kept coming, i-it kept, your back legs hit the wall and go away, go away!

You lashed out. Your head lurched forward and your jaws closed, hard, around a boney hand.

...

The other hand touched your snout.

It made you freeze. You weren’t sure if it was some kind of power this Other Monster had placed over you, or if the sensation of being touched was just so... unexpected.

“... what have they done to you, flower?” It... he said. Despite how pristine his dark aura was, he touched your filth-caked muzzle with no hesitation. The hand was small on your face, it slowly moved... up and down.

Comforting you.

“it’s alright.” Even softer; a murmur, trees rustling in the night, gentle on your aching ears. “you’re still you, my love, no matter what body you’re in.”

... You started to quiver. Who are you? You could see eyes, little white dots, despite not being able to see.

“i need you to let go, for me.” He didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that you still had his other hand in a vice-grip that would shatter a lesser man’s bones. His voice hadn’t become any less soothing. “i know you’re in pain. but you cannot hold on to it... that’s how the change takes hold. you just need to let me help you.”

Let... you...?

... A strange feeling. Like someone was wrapping a blanket around your dirty, wet body. It shimmered, but it felt so nice... and it seemed to lovingly push on your mind, wrapping it up as gently as a butterfly’s wings. The barest touch of tiredness was enough to make your legs quiver and slowly buckle- your belly touched the floor, and he went down with you, still caressing your face.

You wanted to shake the blanket off. You wanted to shake the arms away from you. But... he didn’t let you go... and you were so tired of being wet and afraid.

At least... someone came for you.

“... there. that’s it...” He cooed, stroking the ugly, unnatural mess of fur and scaled and skin that was you. The blanket was getting heavier and heavier... You let go of his hand. He removed it from your mouth, placing one hand on your snout and one on your jaw...

“... shh... let go.”

...

As soon as you went under... the monstrous leathery skin and fangs fell away into a thick ash that settled into a slush onto the wet cave floor.

... He removed the black robe from his shoulders and wrapped it around your small, naked, dirty true form, lifting you up to cradle you in his arms... then vanishing with you into the shadows.

[crossbowking]

Honey & Whiskey

Summary: (Set throughout series) When the world ended, everything good died along with it. At least, that's what Daryl Dixon thought. But then he met a stranger in the woods and his entire world turned upside down.

A/N: HOLY MOLY. I can't believe it's here! I've been working on this story since October and I'm so excited for y'all to finally read it. This story is absolutely my favorite of all time and it's 20,835 words of pure Daryl POV (which is just *chef kiss*) — that being said, it’s also a slow burn...and I mean an entirely self-indulgent SLOWWWW burn. So strap in, y’all.

PSA: There are mentions of 'Dog' in this story that are sort of non-canon, especially now that we've seen a backstory as to how Daryl actually found him in the show...so for the sake of the story, let's just pretend 10.18 doesn't exist :)

Anywho, please be sure to share your thoughts with me afterward!

Happy reading!

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

The sun dipped below the horizon, the sky alight with brilliant orange and yellow rays.

Daryl tilted his head back, glancing up at the shifting colors as night drew near. The air was crisp, a welcomed change from the usual summer heat. The streets of Alexandria were fairly empty, most already settling into their respective homes before nightfall. Though the unusual silence was near deafening, the archer paid it no mind.

He appreciated the quiet these days.

The grass poked and prodded beneath where he sat, but he simply shifted, drawing one knee to his chest, the other leg splayed out in front of him. He picked absently at one of the holes in his worn jeans, tugging at the string hanging off the fabric.

And then he thought of her.

Leaves and twigs crunched beneath Daryl’s boots as he traversed through the otherwise silent woods.

The farm was destroyed, winter was approaching, and there seemed to be an ever-looming pang of hunger in the pit of his stomach. He pushed away any inkling of weakness, forging ahead with determined strides. His people were waiting for him, hunkering down in an abandoned diner less than a mile East, hoping he’d bring back something to dull the growing ache inside all of them.

Daryl’s steps faltered — ‘his’ people.

The thought had come so naturally it nearly took him off guard. The feeling of community, of belonging, was something he’d never felt in his entire life. It was a strange notion, but that drive, that need he felt to provide, pushed him further out into the forest.

The archer kept his footsteps light, practically imperceptible, listening for noises only a seasoned hunter could distinguish. When a twig suddenly snapped off to his left, he froze, scanning the stillness around him. He raised his crossbow, the weight familiar in his grasp as he took a small step in the direction the noise had come from.

A moment later, Daryl spotted it — a lone raccoon just a few yards ahead.

The archer felt a rush of adrenaline, a tingling sensation in his fingertips as they hovered over the trigger. He exhaled a soft breath, focusing all his attention on the animal. But with his concentration elsewhere, it wasn’t until after he’d pulled the trigger that he’d realized he was no longer alone in the woods.

Daryl spun around, coming face to face with an incredibly grotesque-looking walker, teeth bared, arms outstretched, launching itself towards him. The archer braced his arm against the biter’s throat just in time, grunting under its weight as he stumbled backward.

“Shit,” he snarled through gritted teeth, tossing his unloaded weapon aside as he fought against the attack. Using his free hand, he reached for the hunting knife secured on his belt, grabbing onto the hilt.

But before he could yank it out, the world began tilting rapidly around him.

Daryl’s back slammed against the harsh wooded ground, his foot tangled up in an exposed root. He spat another vicious curse as the walker thrashed on top of him, snapping its mangled jaw closer and closer, growling in starved desperation.

Then suddenly, it stilled.

The archer froze, his gaze locked on the unexpected sight of one of his arrows now embedded through the biter’s temple. He snapped out of his reverie, shoving the dead off his chest and scrambling back to his feet.

And then he saw her.

She stood just a few feet away, her rapid breathing mirroring his own, looking as though she was seconds away from passing out. Her hair was matted by a mixture of blood and dirt, her clothes were torn and ratted, her wide eyes seemingly too big for her gaunt features. She had a nasty cut across her temple, blood dripping down the side of her face, past her neck, pooling at the collar of her shirt.

Daryl’s eyes bounced back up to meet hers — his guarded and calloused, hers unsure and fatigued.

“I’m assuming — this — is yours?” she spoke between heaving breaths, tossing something in his direction, the motion causing her to sway unsteadily.

Daryl glanced down, spotting the raccoon he’d shot earlier now lying at his feet — but the arrow he’d used to kill it was no longer there.

Now, it was lodged through the skull of the walker that’d attacked him.

The archer focused back on the stranger — but before he could respond, her skin was suddenly paling, her body crumpling to the ground like a paper doll.

Daryl stared down at her unmoving form in bewilderment. He could tell by the shallow rise and fall of her chest that she was at least breathing. The cut on her temple was still bleeding, the wound looking fairly recent — his best guess was a concussion or exhaustion. Most likely both.

He took a small step forward, almost hesitantly. But when his approach didn’t stir the stranger, he found himself facing an unforeseen decision.

He could leave her — he should leave her. She wasn’t his responsibility. She was a complete stranger. She chose to intervene, not him. She made that choice. Not him. Her.

Though as he turned to leave, as he scooped up the limp raccoon and shoved it into his bag, as he grabbed his strewn crossbow and strapped it across his back, one thing became startlingly clear.

He couldn’t do it — he couldn’t just walk away.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

He could’ve sworn that day in the woods was an entire lifetime ago.

Rick had nearly lost his damn mind when he’d returned to the diner with not only a small woodland creature in his pack, but a stranger slung over his shoulder.

“Is she dead?” Carl pressed nosily, hovering by the booth where the stranger was now laid out, still unconscious.

Lori quickly intervened, moving forward with one hand on her protruding belly, the other grabbing onto Carl’s shoulder. “Step back, baby. Give Hershel some space to work, okay?” she cautioned, pulling the inquisitive boy away.

“Oh, it’s quite alright — I’m just about done here anyways,” Hershel drawled, setting aside the blood-soaked cloth he’d been using to tend to the stranger’s head wound.

Daryl watched the exchange from across the room, arms folded tight against his chest, ignoring the stares coming from other group members.

The front door of the diner suddenly swung open as Rick marched through. He shot the archer a disapproving look before addressing the others. “I think we’re okay,” he finally spoke, re-holstering his pistol. “If Daryl had been followed here, I’m sure we would’ve known by now. We’ll keep somebody on watch — jus’ as a precaution — an’ get back on the road first thing.”

The archer gnawed on the inside of his cheek as the rest of the group began whispering amongst themselves, clearly distressed about the possible danger his decision may have put them in.

Rick approached a moment later, his steadfast strides immediately setting Daryl on edge. “Can I speak with you?” the sheriff hissed, glancing over his shoulder and locking eyes with Lori’s worried gaze. “In private?” he added in a hushed tone before turning around and storming back outside.

Daryl scoffed under his breath, pushing away from the counter he’d been leaning against and stalking after Rick.

The archer yanked the door open, the cool air biting at his skin as he followed suit. He spotted Rick pacing back and forth across the parking lot, surveying the surrounding woods warily before spinning around and facing him head-on.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” Rick demanded, taking a step forward.

Daryl fought back the instinctual urge to be on the attack. Instead, he took a breath. “What was I supposed ta’ do, man? Jus’ leave her out there?” he countered, eyes narrowing.

“You don’t bring her here,” the sheriff snapped before pinching the bridge of his nose, attempting to collect himself. “We — we have ta’ look after our own, Daryl — you know that. We have no idea who she is, where she came from, who she’s with,” he specified sharply before shaking his head. “That’s jus' not a risk I’m willin’ ta’ take. Are you?”

Daryl held Rick’s gaze for a long moment before looking away, glancing towards the tree line. The sheriff had a point, he couldn’t deny that. But there was something inside him, a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach that said otherwise.

Rick slowly nodded, interpreting Daryl’s silence as an answer. “When she wakes, she’s gone,” he finally resolved, stepping past the archer and back towards the diner without another word.

But Daryl couldn’t let it go. “Hey,” he called after Rick, the sheriff’s strides halting mid-pace as he glanced back, the harshness in his features fading, unveiling a man with nothing but the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Back when Carl got shot, if Hershel had turned us away, what’d ya think would’a happened?”

Rick paused before exhaling a long, heavy breath, some of the fight leaving him with it. “That’s not — it’s not the same —”

“It is,” Daryl interjected. “It’s the same damn thing.”

The air grew quiet as Rick’s shoulders sagged, one hand resting against his hip. “My family…” he suddenly murmured, shaking his head sadly. “I can’t risk it.”

Daryl nodded once. “I get it. After everythin’ with Shane an’ Randall, losin’ the farm the way we did, I get it, man,” he rasped, regarding him earnestly. “But m’ tellin’ ya…this’s the wrong call, Rick.”

The diner door suddenly flung open, interrupting the conversation and revealing a flustered-looking Glenn.

“Uh, hey guys,” he interrupted, sending the pair an awkward wave. “Just wanted to let you know that she’s, uh — she’s awake.”

Rick and Daryl shared a look.

“And kinda freaking out,” Glenn quickly tacked on at the end.

Daryl didn’t hesitate. He stormed past Rick and back into the diner, making a beeline towards the small crowd that had gathered around her.

“— okay, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you, sweetheart,” Lori spoke softly, holding her hands out in front of her as though approaching a caged animal.

The archer pushed through the group, spotting the stranger a moment later.

She was still sitting in the booth he’d initially laid her out in — though now she was huddled away from everyone, back pressed up against the wall, knees drawn to her chest in a cowering stance. Her gaze darted frantically around the room, clearly confused and disoriented and overwhelmed.

Daryl couldn’t even begin to understand why, but he felt a wave of outrage course through him.

“C’mon, people. She ain’t a fuckin’ zoo animal,” the archer growled abruptly, taking a defensive stance in front of the booth and motioning for the rest of the group to move back. “Give the girl some damn space.”

The archer waited until everyone stepped away before turning back around and glancing down at the stranger. He was surprised to see her eyes trained on him — even more surprised at the flush of heat that spread across his chest. He held her gaze a second longer before Rick appeared, parting through the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.

The stranger shrunk away.

Daryl wondered why the sight bothered him so much.

Rick came to a slow halt in front of her. “What’s your name?” he finally asked, his tone measured and firm.

The stranger did another sweep of the room, as though surveying just how much possible danger she was in. But when her eyes flashed up towards the archer once again, some of her unease faded. “Y/N,” she spoke hesitantly.

Rick nodded slowly before extending his arm. “Rick Grimes.”

Y/N looked at the gesture cautiously. Still, she reached out and took his hand in hers.

She appeared composed but Daryl noticed the slight tremble in her grip.

After a brief shake, Rick grabbed an empty chair and sat down at the end of the booth, resting his forearms against the table. “So, Y/N,” he began, giving the archer a look of resolve. “What happened ta’ you?”

The time after the farm fell was foggy, each day blurring into the next, suffocated by a heaviness the unknown inherently brought. But that day, the day he met her, ran stark against the rest.

Y/N had told her story like Rick asked her to do. She spoke of the small group she’d been staying with and the refuge they’d built, ultimately destroyed by the dead. Everybody had scattered — and if they hadn’t…

Any previous hesitancies the group held melted into understanding and sympathy almost immediately.

Daryl had known Y/N would be accepted into the group. Rick had hardened since the farm, but he wasn’t heartless. He wouldn’t be able to turn her away, just as the archer hadn’t been able to leave her out in those woods.

Spending the winter season on the run had been difficult for everyone — constantly running from the dead, cold and bitter nights, supplies growing scarce. The road was unforgiving, proving time and time again how completely fucked this new world was, how things would never return to the way they were, how this was now the new way of life.

Though for Daryl, if he was being honest, it wasn’t all bad — not in comparison to what his old life had given him.

He’d choose a lifetime of running over the stench of whiskey and the sting of belt buckles any day.

The only other person who’d appeared unaffected was Y/N. Besides showcasing a natural skillset in survival, she’d found her place amongst the group with ease — so effortlessly that Daryl hadn’t been able to recall what life looked like before her. She exuded a warmth that people were drawn towards — that the rest of the group clung to during the darkest of days.

But not Daryl.

He’d kept her at a distance, kept her at arm’s length because he refused to let her in as everyone else had.

Little did he know.

Daryl swiped at the beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

The Georgian heat was nearly suffocating, blanketing over his body and setting his skin ablaze. He pushed away the discomfort, bending down and grabbing the ankles of one of the many walkers spread out across the prison’s courtyard. He’d lost track of how many bodies he’d dragged out, his group working tirelessly to clean out their newfound home.

The archer had just pulled the limp body through one of the fences, nearing the pickup truck used for disposal, when he heard someone approach.

“Need a hand?”

Daryl stilled — he glanced up, his eyes locking with Y/N’s, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Her hair was pulled back out of her face, a thin sheen of sweat laid out across her forehead. One hand rested on her hip, the other hovered near her face, blocking the sun rays. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up past her elbows, streaks of dirt and blood visible against her exposed skin.

He realized then that she was really rather beautiful.

The intrusive thought caught the archer completely off guard. He quickly turned his attention downward, grunting a half-assed ‘nah’ before continuing his trek to the pickup truck, determined to preserve some space between them.

But instead of leaving, as he’d assumed she would, Y/N remained rooted in place.

Daryl faltered, the expression that flickered across her face hinting that maybe she hadn’t come to just ‘lend a helping hand’. She had something on her mind — he could tell by the way she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing absently as she shifted her weight back and forth.

The archer dropped his hold from around the walker’s ankles and straightened. “What?” he demanded gruffly, curiosity getting the best of him.

Y/N’s eyes found his as she took a small step forward — Daryl fought back the urge to back up. “I, uh ���” she paused, her mouth twisting to the side as though fumbling for the right words. “Just — thank you.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “For what?” he huffed.

Y/N’s head cocked to the side, seemingly surprised. “I — I don’t know,” she murmured, a soft, sort of bewildered laugh slipping past her lips. “For bringing me here, for introducing me to your people — for everything, I guess,” she expressed sincerely. “You could’ve just left me out in those woods that day — most people would’ve.”

The archer chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling incredibly exposed for some strange reason. “Was nothin’,” he finally grunted, ignoring the prickle of heat at the tips of his ears.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Y/N replied indignantly, like she was offended at the notion that he didn’t deserve her gratitude. “You saved my life.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than for this interaction to be over with — because once that happened, he could go back to maintaining his distance, he could go back to allowing the air between them to be just that. “Figured I owed ya,” he finally mustered, recalling the first day they’d met.

Y/N’s lips curled up into a megawatt smile and Daryl could’ve sworn he’d never seen anything so damn captivating in his entire life. “Okay,” she grinned, sticking her hand out in front of her. “We’ll call it even then.”

The archer glanced down at the gesture before warily reaching forward, taking her hand in his, and shaking once, twice, three times. Her grip was firm and she didn’t seem to mind the grime coating his skin.

When she pulled away, Daryl felt the empty spaces she’d filled set ablaze.

Y/N shot him one last smile before turning around and heading back towards the courtyard. But she’d only made it a few feet when she paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure you eat something, okay?”

She didn’t wait for a response — instead, she narrowed her eyes, shooting him a look in mock-seriousness as if to say ‘I’m watching you’. Then her face broke out into another grin before she sent him a small wave — and she was gone.

Daryl watched her leave, unable to pull his gaze from her retreating form.

He tried to ignore the mess his mind was becoming, littered with confusion and insecurity, the nagging voice that lingered telling him he’d never be good enough, strong enough, brave enough for anything other than what he’d always known.

He wouldn’t let her in — he couldn’t let her in.

But as he bent down, grasping onto either ankle of the walker at his feet, he felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips he swore had everything to do with the Georgian heat and nothing to do with her.

A gentle breeze roused Daryl from his thoughts.

He shifted from where he sat, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for the pack of cigarettes he kept there.

The package was falling apart, half-crushed, half-wrinkled from everyday wear and tear, but the archer slipped one of the few remaining cigarettes out anyway and caught it between his lips.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that keeping Y/N at arm’s length was a futile attempt — he’d been naive to think it was possible in the first place.

Before he knew it, she’d wormed her way into the forefronts of his mind and found herself a nice, cozy corner to call home. She’d done it as effortlessly as the blink of an eye or the beat of a heart. It just happened — no rhyme or reason, no explanation or logic. It just happened.

Which made leaving that much harder.

“Daryl!”

The archer ignored Glenn’s shout, marching further into the woods and approaching a snide-looking Merle. “C’mon, bro,” the younger brother grunted, worried if they didn’t leave right then and there, he’d change his mind and return to the prison with the others.

Merle’s booming laugh sounded, drawing Daryl from his thoughts. “Well, I’ll be damned,” the man sneered, tossing an arm around the archer’s shoulders. “Looks like somebody decided ta’ grow himself a big ole’ pair a’ cojones while I was gone,” he snarked, pushing Daryl forward and falling in step beside him.

The archer pressed his lips together, swallowing his retort and focusing ahead.

“Hey, wait up!”

The voice that sounded halted Daryl in his tracks. He spun around, spotting Y/N making her way through the forest, her strides long and determined as she headed straight towards him.

“Well, would ya look a’ that,” Merle quipped under his breath, leering at her approach, his tone sending a swell of aggravation through the younger brother.

“Jus’ gimme a minute,” Daryl quickly waved him off, ignoring the prickle of heat creeping up his neck as he trudged towards her.

Y/N came to a stop in front of him, slightly out of breath, her eyes searching his for a long moment.

She seemed to have something to say, a reason for chasing after him — but it was as though she couldn’t get the words together. She glanced down, shaking her head slowly before taking a deep breath. When she looked back up, Daryl noticed a resignation in her gaze that wasn’t there before.

“Are you sure about this?” she finally asked, her troubled expression sending a pang of guilt through him.

Daryl looked away. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure — he wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

He shifted his weight, focusing back on her. “Ya watch out for yourself, ya hear me?” he rumbled, pushing away the unexpected worry gnawing at him.

Y/N’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, her defeated expression damn near changing his mind altogether. “I will,” she murmured, a bittersweet smile ghosting across her features.

Daryl held her gaze a moment longer before nodding once, turning without another word.

But he’d barely taken a step when he suddenly felt her grab his wrist and twist him back around.

Before he knew what was happening, Y/N was hugging him. She threw her arms around his middle and squeezed tight, leaving Daryl completely and utterly dumbfounded. His arms hung limply at his sides, caught off guard by the surprising gesture. Though as soon as it’d begun, it ended. Y/N unwound herself from around his body and took a step back, a pink tinge to her cheeks he hadn’t noticed earlier.

She whispered a somber goodbye — though Daryl couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears — and then she was gone.

The archer fought back the urge to follow, telling himself over and over again that he was making the right decision — he was choosing blood, he was choosing family, he was choosing —

“Hey! Where’s my hug at, sweet cheeks?” Merle’s suddenly hollered, calling after Y/N.

She didn’t look back and Daryl fought back the impulse to start swinging.

But Merle just laughed, the noise loud and boisterous as he sauntered forward. “Damn, lil’ brother. Didn’t think ya had it in ya! I was startin’ ta’ think ya played for the other fuckin’ team’,” he jeered, clapping the archer on the back with more force than necessary.

Daryl’s entire body tensed up, his darkened gaze snapping towards his brother. He noticed then that Merle was also watching Y/N — though his eye line was fixated on one specific part of her body…

“Let’s go,” the archer spat under his breath as he spun around and stormed off, his hands balling into fists.

He had to walk away. Otherwise, he’d lose it — he’d give in to instinct, he’d allow the rage coursing through him to take over, and all of this would’ve been for nothing.

So he took a deep breath, relaxed his clenched fists, and dismissed any lingering thoughts of her.

Daryl scoffed at the memory, an unlit cigarette still caught between his teeth.

He pulled out his lighter and flicked his thumb against the wheel, sparking a small flame before inhaling a deep breath. The familiar taste of nicotine and ash filled his senses as he drew smoke into his lungs, immediately feeling a rush of calm flow through him.

Daryl existed in the quiet, taking another long drag of his cigarette. He pulled his legs towards his chest, resting his elbows atop his knees, letting his hands dangle in front of him. He watched the lit cigarette butt dim and dance between his fingertips, the embers burning off and drifting into the grass.

It’d only taken a single day for the archer to come to his senses — to realize the mistake he’d made in leaving with his brother. And if he was being honest, it’d had nothing to do with Merle. He couldn’t blame his brother because his brother hadn’t changed — his brother was still the same brash, volatile, ill-tempered redneck he’d known his whole life.

No, it was him — he was the one who had changed.

“Would ya slow yer damn roll? I ain’t the athlete I used ta’ be, ya know!” Merle bellowed from somewhere behind Daryl, clearly struggling to keep up with the younger brother’s pace.

But the archer didn’t slow, his strides matching the beat of his pounding heart. He ducked under tree branches and side-stepped exposed roots, the prison growing nearer with each step he took.

It wasn’t until Daryl heard a sudden thud, followed by a viciously snarled curse, that he slowed. He spun around, spotting Merle pushing up off the forest floor.

“Ya good?” Daryl called out, crossing back and reaching down, offering his hand.

But Merle just swatted him away, his expression twisting in contempt as he staggered back to his feet. “Lemme ask ya somethin’,” he growled. “How the hell ya think this’s gonna go, huh? Ya think those assholes are jus’ gonna forget ‘bout everythin’ that happened? Ya think we’re jus’ gonna hug it out an’ sing ‘round the campfire like some kinda damn afternoon special?”

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “Ya —”

“This ‘bout that skirt from yesterday? Huh? That it?” Merle steamrolled over his attempt to interrupt, taking a step forward, the brothers now toe to toe.

Daryl felt a prickle of heat flush the back of his neck, his chest tightening. Merle was just trying to get a rise out of him — he knew that deep down — but damn, was it working. “It ain’t ‘bout her,” the archer growled defensively, fixing him with a glare. “It’s ‘bout survival, ’bout rebuildin’ — ‘bout tryin’ ta’ make somethin’ outta this shit world. It can’t jus’ be us out here, man — not anymore.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, did Officer Friendly force-feed ya that bullshit?”

Daryl stiffened before huffing a breath and waving his brother off. He turned away, determined to continue his trek back home before it was too late — but he’d only made it a couple of feet when Merle called after him once more.

“It ain’t ever gonna work,” the older brother voiced, his usually brash tone dimming into something surprisingly vulnerable. “It — it jus’ ain’t. Not after everythin’ — not after what I did.”

The archer glanced back, watching Merle’s notorious bravado finally melt away, replaced with something he could’ve sworn looked like guilt. “We ain’t dead yet, man,” Daryl rumbled simply. “Still time ta’ make shit right.”

Merle considered his words for a long moment — but before he could respond, the sound of barraging gunfire exploded through the air.

Daryl’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, feeling his stomach drop when he realized where exactly it was coming from.

He took off into a sprint, Merle’s pounding footsteps echoing directly behind him.

Daryl lied to his brother that day.

In his defense, it hadn’t been deliberate. When Merle had questioned his intentions, alluding to the idea that Y/N was the main reason for his urgency to return home, the archer had denied it.

He hadn’t known it back then, but the truth became startlingly clear once he’d made it back to the prison, marched up the pathway leading to cellblock C, and laid eyes on her.

Daryl found Y/N crouched down beside Axel’s unmoving form, one hand resting on his shoulder.

His steps faltered, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment — but he couldn’t help himself. The Governor had attacked the prison, his people were shaken, and damn it, he just needed to make sure she was okay.

She stood a moment later, turning to rejoin the rest of the group huddled by the fence, her despondent expression filling his bones with a red-hot rage.

But then her eyes met his.

Y/N’s footsteps stilled, her gaze widening in disbelief as she looked at him. A heartbeat passed between them before Daryl noticed how she was holding herself — hunched over slightly, one hand wrapped around the opposite arm, blood seeping out from between her fingertips.

He crossed to her in three long strides, ignoring the heat that flushed his chest the closer he neared.

Instead, he focused on the wound — that he could deal with, that made sense.

Unlike the unexpected and rapid thrumming of his pulse.

“Daryl,” she breathed in disbelief, her voice thick as though the word had gotten tangled somewhere in her throat.

His name sounded like honey the way it rolled off her tongue.

He shrugged off his crossbow and tossed it aside, wordlessly reaching forward and pulling her hand away from the injury. He examined the laceration carefully — which upon closer inspection appeared to be a gunshot wound — though luckily enough, the bullet seemed to have only grazed the side of her arm.

The archer reached into his back pocket, grabbed the red rag he kept there, and gently pressed it against the wound. “Jus’ keep pressure on it, alright?” he rasped, guiding Y/N’s limp hand to rest over the cloth, stalling the blood flow.

He glanced down at her, doing a slight double-take when he realized she was watching him, a slightly strained smile pulling at her lips. “You came back,” she whispered, her eyes warm despite the blood splattered across her cheek, the pallor in her complexion.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, incredibly aware of how little space remained between them. He managed a stiff nod in response, his voice suddenly lost.

But Y/N’s smile merely grew, like the first hint of sunshine after a devastating storm.

And the tightness in his chest finally faded.

The archer inhaled another long drag from his cigarette, the smoke spilling past his lips and disappearing into the growing night.

Returning to the prison had given Daryl a sense of purpose, a sense of hope — he was back where he belonged and the threat of the Governor just didn’t seem so insurmountable anymore.

And then his big brother went and got himself killed.

Daryl stormed across the field that led to the prison’s courtyard, shoulders set, fists balled, eyes rimmed red.

The Governor would pay — he’d pay for what he’d done.

To Glenn, to Maggie, to countless others.

He’d pay for what he did to Merle.

The archer’s footsteps faltered, only briefly, when he spotted Y/N pacing back and forth behind the gate. Her head snapped towards him as he approached, her worried expression melting into relief as she quickly pulled the gate open for him.

“You okay?” she called to him, brow furrowing as she craned her neck, now looking behind him. “Where’s Merle?”

Daryl kept his gaze forward, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he marched past her without a second glance. “Dead,” he grunted, ignoring the prickling sensation growing behind his eyes.

“What?” he heard her exclaim, though he didn’t turn around — he kept his momentum pushing ahead, hellbent on going after the Governor and taking him down once and for all.

No matter what the cost.

He stalked towards where he’d parked his motorcycle, slinging his crossbow over his back and mounting the bike in one swift motion.

But Y/N was just as quick.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she jogged towards him, planting herself in front of the bike, an alarmed look in her eyes. “What’re you doing?”

Daryl felt a swell of anger wash over him, an unusual feeling when directed towards her. “Move,” he growled, using his heel to knock the bike’s kickstand up.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, his intent becomingly startling clear. “No.”

He was caught off guard by her protest, though snapped out of it just as soon — his scowl deepened, his eyes darkening, seeing nothing but redness and fury and Merle’s reanimated corpse flickering through his mind. “Move, damn it,” he snarled once more.

But Y/N stood her ground regardless of the wariness in her gaze. “No.”

The archer’s rage churned inside him, his grip white-knuckled around the throttle. “Ya —”

“Please, don’t do this,” she interrupted his brusque retort, shaking her head. “I promise — I promise — he’ll get what’s coming to him, but Daryl…this is not the way.”

He knew deep down she was right, but he didn’t want to hear it — he didn’t want to hear ration or reason or the pity in her voice.

He didn’t want to hear any of it.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly whispered, emotion clouding her eyes. “God, I’m so sorry about Merle. I’m —”

Something inside the archer snapped. “Ya know what, ya can drop the damn act,” he hissed, springing off the bike and shoving it to the ground with a deafening crash. He ignored the way Y/N flinched as he barreled towards her like a surging storm. “Ya can stop pretendin’ like anyone in this fuckin’ place gave a single shit ‘bout my brother!” he fired back, his voice rising. “Or me, for that matter!”

Y/N recoiled away from him, eyes wide. “I’m —” she started, shrinking under his heated approach. “I didn’t —”

“Forget it,” the archer spat, unable to stop the fervor spewing out of him. “Ya don’t know shit.”

A beat of silence passed as they stared one another down — but the more the quiet stretched on, the more a different emotion began to seep through the archer.

Guilt.

Unable to watch the hurt settling across Y/N’s features, Daryl turned away, allowing his brewing vehemence to carry him across the courtyard and to the doors leading into cellblock C. He paused at the doorway, unable to stop himself from looking back.

He watched Y/N’s head lower, her shoulders drop, before she slowly reached down, grabbing his toppled motorcycle by the handlebars and propping it upright.

The archer swallowed his remorse, buried his instincts, and stalked inside.

Daryl hissed a breath as the burnt end of the cigarette singed his fingertip. He stubbed the flame out against the heel of his boot, flicking the butt away into the grass.

Still, to this day, he felt bad about losing his temper. The anger had clearly been misdirected, but in the moment, he hadn’t been able to get a handle on it — Y/N had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Despite the aftermath of his outburst weighing heavily on him, he’d kept his distance from her throughout the days that followed.

Old habits die hard.

Daryl woke with a start, his eyes snapping open, chasing away lingering images of the nightmare he’d found himself immersed in.

Sleep had never been kind to him, even before everything went to shit — tonight was no different.

He could still see flashes of redness and death, smell the scent of rotting corpses and bloodshed, hear the sounds of tormented screams and anguished whimpers —

Daryl’s thoughts faltered as he quickly pushed up onto his elbows, straining his ears.

He realized then that the whimpering wasn’t coming from just his imagination. No, it was real — and it was coming from somewhere inside the cellblock.

The archer sprang up, untangling himself from the bed sheet coiled at his feet before shuffling towards the doorway. He paused there, his senses on high alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he listened carefully.

When another soft cry sounded, he moved from the entryway, slowly slinking past cell after cell and following the noise.

It wasn’t long before he found himself standing outside Y/N’s cell.

Daryl peered into the shadowed room, just barely able to make out the shape of her beneath the covers. She murmured something jumbled and incoherent, her words muffled as though her face was pressed into the pillow. She tossed and turned for a moment before finally settling.

When she remained still, the archer nearly left for his own cell.

But then he heard a quietly gasped sob and began moving forward before he could think twice.

Daryl crouched down beside Y/N’s bedside, turning on the lantern she’d left sitting on the floor. He shielded his eyes from the light until they adjusted before focusing on her.

She was curled up, covers drawn to her chin, faint tear tracks marking the sides of her face. Her brow was knitted, causing lines to form across her forehead — he fought back the urge to reach out and smooth them away.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one sleep was unkind to.

Another soft whimper blew past her lips and Daryl reached for her, gently shaking her shoulder.

Y/N immediately jolted awake, shooting upright, disoriented and alarmed as her bleary eyes darted around the cell.

“Hey, hey,” Daryl quickly rasped, holding his hands out in front of him. “It’s alright.”

“What — what happened?” she croaked, her voice thick with sleep, her wide gaze finally settling on him.

The archer shook his head, pulling back slightly, second-guessing his decision to wake her. “Nothin’ — nothin’, alright? We’re okay.”

“What —” she sounded, a bewildered look flitting across her face as she settled her hand against her undoubtedly racing heart. “Are you okay?”

Daryl’s brow furrowed at her question, confused as to why that would be her next question and not ‘what the fuck are you doing in my cell?’ Regardless, he nodded once. “Yeah,” the archer brushed off her concern, sitting back on his haunches. “Ya — uh, ya were cryin’,” he revealed hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck as he watched for her reaction.

Y/N straightened, the top bunk just grazing the crown of her head as she dabbed her fingertip at the corner of her eye, appearing almost embarrassed suddenly. “Oh,” she whispered, wiping away the tears that’d formed.

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Ya alright?” he rasped after a long moment.

She quickly nodded her head, waving off his worry. “Oh, no — yeah, no, I’m fine,” she replied flippantly, shooting the archer a tight-lipped smile.

Despite Daryl seeing right through her bullshit, he didn’t push.

Instead, he nodded once and clambered back to his feet.

But he’d just barely turned to leave when Y/N spoke up once more. “Hey, Daryl?”

The archer faltered, glancing back at her. “Yeah?”

Her demeanor appeared collected, though he could see her hands twisting nervously around the sheet splayed out across his lap. “I —” she paused, seemingly working up the nerve to say what was next. “Are we okay?”

Daryl felt his chest tighten, the heaviness that’d grown between them splintering in that moment. There was something about her words, the smallness in her voice, that had him kicking himself for being so damn stubborn, for not making things right sooner.

She raked a hand through her tousled hair. “I just — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I mean, I wasn’t trying to —”

“Stop,” Daryl cut off her rambling, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was actin’ like an asshole,” he grumbled admittedly, the shame he’d buried creeping back in.

The tension in Y/N’s features softened as she regarded him. “It’s okay.”

For some reason, her easy forgiveness made Daryl’s insides churn.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he shot back sharply, almost wishing she’d curse him out instead. “Wasn’t right ta’ take that shit out on ya.”

“You were grieving,” she justified, her explanation simple and understanding.

Daryl worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching as he stared at the far wall of her cell, his gaze darkening — he didn’t deserve her compassion. “Well, ya probably stopped me from doin’ somethin’ real stupid,” he muttered dryly.

She merely shrugged, still completely unfazed. “Grief makes us do stupid things,” she murmured, defending him yet again. “I am sorry about your brother, you know,” she whispered a moment later, the sincerity in her voice knocking down the wall Daryl had worked so hard to keep between them.

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Merle was no hero,” he finally rumbled. “But he died tryin’ ta’ make shit right,” he mustered, his eyes finding hers amidst the shadows of her cell.

Y/N shot him a small, somewhat sad smile. “Then he didn’t die for nothing.”

Daryl swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, feeling as though his heart was moments away from bursting out of his chest. It was as though the cell was shrinking around him, the walls closing in — and the only thing keeping him above the surface was her.

“Get some sleep,” he managed gruffly, turning to leave once more.

“Daryl?”

The archer stilled. “Hm?” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

“Can you stay?” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it entirely. “Just a little longer?”

Daryl shifted his weight back and forth, feeling the overwhelming urge to run, to retreat to his own cell and pretend he hadn’t heard her.

But the slight tremble in her voice, something others surely would’ve missed, pulled him right back in.

The air thickened as he walked towards her, every fiber of his being screaming at him to make a run for it while he still had the chance. Y/N watched him approach, slightly wide-eyed, his steps faltering the closer he neared. She maneuvered slightly on the bed, moving towards the wall as though making room for him beside her.

Instead, Daryl did the most rational thing he could think of — he grabbed the empty mattress on the top bunk, slid it off the frame, and dropped it onto the floor next to her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Oh, you don’t have to —”

“G’night,” Daryl interjected abruptly, avoiding her gaze as he quickly turned off the lantern and laid down. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, his face surely on fire.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Daryl peeked an eye open, certain she could hear his thrumming pulse from where she sat. But a moment later, the bed creaked as she settled back down against the rickety mattress.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The archer wasn’t sure how much time passed before Y/N’s breathing evened out, the stranger from the woods all those days ago finally falling into a deep and restful sleep.

He, on the other hand, remained awake until morning came.

She’d asked him to stay and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Not even sleep could take him from her.

Everything changed after that night.

After the people from Woodbury moved into the prison, the demand for supplies nearly tripled. The archer found himself going on runs more often than not, hunting for game or scavenging local businesses — but the days and nights he was home were spent with her.

They fell into a routine of sorts. The days were spent working the fence or tending to things around the prison — but most nights, they’d sneak away from the others and spend hours sitting atop one of the unused watchtowers.

It became ‘their spot’, as Y/N had put it.

Some nights they sat quietly, existing in comfortable silence, watching the vast night sky. Other nights, Daryl would learn things about her — those were his favorite nights.

Y/N would talk about anything and everything — the mundane stuff, the deep stuff, the things in between — while Daryl would rest his head against the watchtower and close his eyes, listening to the way her voice rose and fell. She’d tell stories of her life before the end and her hopes for the future as though there still was one.

And over time, despite the world decaying at its very core, even Daryl started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be one.

She became his solace.

Hell, maybe she always had been, but he’d been too damn stupid to realize it.

“I’m sick of hearing myself talk,” Y/N suddenly spoke, a soft laugh following.

Daryl’s eyes snapped open as he glanced over at her, his brow furrowing.

She shifted from where she sat, the side of her face illuminated by moonlight. “Tell me something about you,” she said sweetly, her knee brushing against his as she rested one shoulder against the watchtower, giving him her full attention.

The archer felt his face warm under her curiosity. “Ya know plenty,” he grunted — and it was the truth. He’d told her more about himself than anyone else in his entire life.

“Oh, come on,” she countered and though Daryl couldn’t see it, he sensed an eye roll. “Just one thing? Something I don’t already know and then I’ll leave you alone.”

He huffed a breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, giving in.

Y/N waited patiently as the archer fell into thought, racking his brain for something to share — something even worth sharing. The silence that dredged on wasn’t helping either — if anything, it only added to the pressure. His life wasn’t all that interesting, never had been, never would be.

Daryl snuck a glance at Y/N — well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

“Uh,” he rumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know. Guess I always wanted a dog?” he mustered, the confession coming off more so a question than an actual statement.

Still, Y/N’s face broke out into one of her million-dollar smiles. “I can totally see you with a dog,” she beamed. “You never had one?”

Daryl almost shook his head, but then a faint memory came to mind. He looked away, propping his elbows against his knees and focusing straight ahead.

“When, uh —” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, picking absently at the skin beside his thumbnail. “When I was a kid, I was walkin’ home from school. Found this stray covered in mud, damn near skin an’ bones. An’ so I took it home,” he pressed his lips together before snorting a breath. “Even tied my shoelace ‘round its neck like a leash.”

“Aw,” Y/N sounded softly.

“Mhm,” the archer mumbled, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

After a stretch of silence lingered, she spoke up once more. “But you didn’t keep it?”

Daryl began picking at his skin a little more aggressively. “My old man — he was on a bender. Started screamin’ an’ hollerin’ when he saw me ‘cause he ‘didn’t wanna take care a’ no mangy mutt’,” he bit out, echoing his father’s words from all those years ago. “He threw somethin’ — don’t remember what. Maybe an empty whiskey bottle. Poor dog was scared outta its mind,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It pissed on the floor, right in front a’ him.”

Y/N’s expression turned troubled, her lips forming into a small frown.

Daryl ignored the tightness growing in his throat. “So he tossed the dog in his truck, drove off, an’ that was that — I never saw it again,” he finished, wincing as he ripped a small piece of skin off his thumb, drawing a drop of blood.

“What’d your dad do?” Y/N asked, her voice small.

The archer wiped the blood off onto his jeans. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, glancing over at her. “He never said an’ I never asked.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh.

Daryl turned his head, staring out over the railing and into the darkened forest. He’d never told anyone that story — not even Merle, who’d been doing another stint in juvie at the time. The truth was, he carried a lot of guilt from that day. Sure, he was only a kid, but he was the one who’d brought the stray home in the first place.

Whatever happened to that dog…well, that was on him.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, gently poking the side of his arm, drawing him back to her. “Maybe we’ll find you a dog of your own someday.”

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced.

“You never know,” she shrugged. “What would you name it?”

He scoffed softly in response, shaking his head.

“Come on,” she reached over and poked him once more. “Humor me.”

“How ‘bout this,” the archer relented. “If — an’ that’s a big-ass if — we ever find a dog someday, ya get ta' name it.”

Y/N’s face immediately lit up. “Me?”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

She exhaled a breath, her gaze widening. “This…this is a shit-ton of pressure, Dixon,” she whispered, the wheels in her mind, very obviously, turning.

Despite everything, a soft laugh rumbled from deep inside Daryl’s chest, the sound strange and unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely laughed — the noise got stuck in his throat, like his body was physically rejecting the sensation.

When he noticed Y/N watching him, a cheeky grin plastered across her face, his skin flushed.

“Okay, okay, let me think…” she grew serious, closing her eyes and resting her chin against her clasped hands. Not even a second later, her eyes shot open. “Got it!”

Daryl motioned for her to continue. “Lemme hear it.”

“Alright,” she shifted, facing him head-on. “Dog.”

The archer’s brow knitted together, his gaze narrowing. “Dog?”

“Dog,” she nodded resolutely.

“Ya — ya wanna name the dog ‘Dog’?” he questioned dubiously.

“Yup,” she grinned, popping the ‘p’.

Daryl rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Ya got a couple a’ screws loose, ya know that?” he teased, tapping the side of his head.

“Shut up,” Y/N laughed softly, nudging him with her elbow.

A beat of quiet passed between them before Daryl cleared his throat. “We ought'a head back,” he grumbled, starting to stand.

But then Y/N reached out, grabbing onto his hand. “Hang on,” she objected, looking up at him. “Just a few more minutes?” she asked, gently tugging his arm down.

The skin on his hand tingled beneath her touch as her gaze, warm like honey, melted further into his.

Before he could think twice, he found himself settling back down beside her, his hand still intertwined around hers.

Besides, when had he ever been able to say ‘no’ to her?

Daryl could’ve sworn those nights up in the watchtower were the best nights of his life.

Then the prison fell.

And destroyed everything good along with it.

“Do you miss her?”

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, just then noticing the quiet that’d settled over the funeral home. He glanced over at Beth, who remained seated in front of the piano, her kind gaze watching him curiously.

Settling further inside the casket he laid in, the archer turned to stare up at the ceiling, folding one arm behind his head, the other laid out across his stomach. He ignored Beth’s question — not because it wasn’t true, but because he knew if he spoke, if he started talking about her, the hollowness inside his chest would swallow him whole.

“I think she’s still out there,” Beth assured him quietly, steadfast in hanging onto whatever hope she could muster. “I think they all are.”

Daryl grunted softly in response, not trusting his voice.

He wanted to believe that — he wanted nothing more than to believe that Y/N and the others were out there somewhere, somewhere safe. But he wasn’t a foolish man — and he just couldn’t bring himself to feign the kind of certainty that came so effortlessly to Beth.

“‘And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith’,” she suddenly murmured, her eyes glowing against the candlelight, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Daddy used ta’ quote scripture — that was one of his favorites,” she explained, her voice growing thick at the mention of her father. She pulled herself together before continuing. “I have faith,” her words were resolute, as though not only trying to convince him but herself as well.

The archer huffed a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Got enough for the both a’ us?” he muttered dryly, quirking a brow.

Beth laughed, breaking the heaviness that’d spread. “Sure do,” she beamed before shooting him a meaningful look. “You can thank me later.”

With that, she swiveled around on the bench and faced the piano once more, her fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a gentle melody.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man — never had been, never would be.

He didn’t buy into all that bullshit. If there was a God out there…what the fuck was he doing? Where was he? Why didn’t he stop the world from ending? Why did he let the bad destroy the good, time and time again?

He just couldn’t put his faith into something so cruel, so merciless.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man.

But for the first time in his entire life, he closed his eyes and prayed.

The archer felt his throat constrict.

He tilted his head back, looking up at the darkened sky. The sun had melted into the Earth, in its place thousands upon thousands of littered stars, surrounding a glowing crescent-shaped moon.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe there was a God out there — some higher power or greater being — who’d been listening that night in the funeral home.

Because somehow, someway, despite all the odds stacked against him…he’d found her.

Daryl felt his lip split beneath another vicious punch, his head snapping to the side.

He was losing strength, his bruised body slowly giving out on him as two of the Claimers continued to relentlessly beat him. It seemed like no matter how hard he fought back, he just couldn’t get the upper hand.

He was outnumbered and unarmed, but as long as their attention remained on him, he wouldn’t back down — because once they were done with him, they’d move on to the others.

They’d move on to her.

Daryl caught Y/N’s horrified gaze from the other side of the road — she was knelt in front of Tony, who had a fistful of her hair in his grip, simultaneously holding Michonne at gunpoint. Y/N was struggling against his hold, attempting to break free, her features twisted in pain.

A low growl rumbled from deep inside the archer, a red-hot rage coursing through his veins as he fought even harder against the two men.

He managed to dodge another punch, but in the process, connected with a swift jab to the ribcage. He exhaled sharply, losing his breath as the two closed in on him once more — though as the archer braced himself for the next strike, he noticed that the men had suddenly frozen in place.

Daryl followed their stares, finally understanding what had caused the abrupt standstill.

Rick was staggering away from the leader of the Claimers, red staining the bottom half of his face — the archer didn’t even realize it was blood until he saw Joe. The man swayed unsteadily on his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape, as his hands reached for where his throat should’ve been.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Michonne grabbed Tony’s gun and turned it on himself, shooting him once. Daryl followed suit, landing a solid hook against the side of Billy’s face. He heard another gunshot ring out but was too focused on the man at his feet to notice. Without any hesitation, the archer stomped the heel of his boot into the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

He backed away from Billy’s crushed form, stumbling over Harvey’s body, a bullet hole now between his lifeless eyes. He spun around, steadying himself against the hood of the car in front of him as he worked to control his heaving breaths. He’d turned just in time to see Rick mercilessly stabbing Dan, over and over again until the man’s center was nothing but a mess of blood and guts.

And then he saw her.

She was still on her knees, though now hunched over beside Tony, staring silently at his unmoving figure.

Daryl pushed away from the truck and rounded the hood, his heart leaping into his throat as he made a beeline towards her. His footsteps faltered the closer he neared, the sight before him suddenly registering — Tony had been shot through the neck by Michonne, but the front of his skull had also been caved in.

His gaze flickered towards Y/N, just then noticing the blood-soaked boulder clasped tightly in her hand.

It took every ounce of strength to not rush forward, to not pull her into his arms and hold her close because damn it, she was alive, she was okay, she was here.

The archer stepped over Tony’s body, slowly crouching down in front of Y/N — when his approach didn’t stir her, a jolt of unease shot through him. Her vacant eyes were trained on the dead man, her features expressionless and ashen. There was a cut just above her eyebrow, a small trail of blood trickling down the side of her face, but other than that, she appeared relatively unharmed.

Daryl gently took her hand in his and carefully unclasped her fingers from around the rock. He tossed the boulder aside before settling down, kneeling opposite her, his deep blue eyes maintaining a watchful look.

The archer brushed his thumb over the back of her limp hand, squeezing softly a moment later.

And then, almost hesitantly, she squeezed back.

Daryl held his breath as her eyes found his, welling with unshed tears, the helplessness in her haunted gaze twisting his insides. “I never killed someone before,” she whispered suddenly, choking on her words as though speaking shards of glass.

He wasn’t used to seeing her this way — she’d always been so steady, a light others were drawn towards, that he’d been drawn towards. And now…well, now he wished the Claimers would come alive so he could rip them apart all over again.

Unable to stand the sight of her broken expression any longer, Daryl reached for her. “C’mere,��� he rasped, slipping his hand behind the back of her head and pulling her forward.

Y/N’s features crumpled as she fell against his chest, a hitched sob catching in her throat. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, gripping onto the front of his vest as though he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He wrapped his other arm securely around her back, keeping her cradled against his body. “S’ alright,” the archer rumbled as she held on tighter to him, her frame trembling as she cried. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya.”

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, woven around one another, his pounding heart echoing hers.

But he didn’t mind — because he’d found her.

And nothing else seemed to matter much with her engulfed in his arms.

The weeks that’d followed nearly destroyed them all.

With unrelenting heat, dwindling supplies, and the hollowness of loss inside each of them, morale had been at an all-time low. The little amount of food they’d managed to scrounge up had been divvied into morsels — though not enough to soothe their aches of hunger. The water supply eventually depleted, leaving their throats raw and mouths like cotton as they walked — day after day, down winding road after winding road, searching for salvation that was nowhere to find.

The line that’d separated them from the dead had become alarmingly thin.

And it’d only been a matter of time before that line disappeared altogether.

Daryl roused from his sleep, somehow feeling even more exhausted than when he first closed his eyes.

He scrubbed at his face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that’d formed before huffing a breath. The sign of first morning light seeped through the canopy of trees above him, visible through the motionless overgrowth of leaves and greenery. The heat was already suffocating — his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, his throat desperate for water he couldn’t afford to drink.

But focusing on that, focusing on the discomfort, was much easier than acknowledging the looming darkness that lingered.

The archer pushed up onto his elbows, the forest floor digging into his skin. He scanned the makeshift camp his group had set up, positioned just off the main road. Almost everyone was still asleep, curled up on the harsh wooded ground within the permitter they’d barricaded.

Except for Y/N who was nowhere to be seen.

Daryl felt his stomach lurch as he pulled himself off the ground and staggered to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness he felt — it’d been days since he’d eaten, since any of them had eaten. He grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, tiptoeing around the others as to not wake them — they deserved a few more minutes in a reality that wasn’t as fucked as this one.

The only other person awake was Glenn, who’d volunteered to be on watch. He sat with his back against a large tree trunk, Maggie at his side, her head resting against his shoulder.

Daryl headed towards them, drawing Glenn’s attention. But before he could say anything, Glenn nodded his head towards something on the main road, careful not to jostle Maggie awake.

The archer followed his gaze, spotting Y/N through the trees. He nodded once in silent ‘thanks’, feeling the pit in his stomach loosen as he marched out of the woods and crossed over the asphalt.

Y/N was sitting on the hood of a long-since abandoned car, her feet perched atop the dented front bumper. Her eyes flashed towards him as he approached, prominent dark circles beneath a weary gaze, so unlike the warmth he was used to seeing.

Daryl felt his throat constrict — he could handle his own demons, the heaviness that’d latched onto his bones after the last few weeks.

But hers?

She needed to be okay — he needed her to be okay.

He slid onto the hood, the car dipping below his weight as he settled beside her. A comfortable silence stretched on as they stared down the long and desolate road ahead, each lost in their own thoughts.

“I miss ‘our spot’,” Y/N suddenly murmured, her tone wistful.

Daryl grunted softly in response, the nights they’d spent up in the watchtower flashing through his mind.

He missed it too — he hadn’t known peace like that before.

“God, we had it so good back then,” she exhaled a breath, lowering her head.

The archer peeked over at her, hearing the hint of emotion growing in her words, the sadness she tried to conceal. But she couldn’t hide it — not from him.

He could tell how she was feeling by the steadiness of her breath.

“We still had Hershel…” she whispered, clasping her hands together, her knuckles turning white. “Bob…Tyreese…” her voice cracked slightly before she glanced up. “Beth.”

It was Daryl’s turn to look away.

He couldn’t think about her — not without smelling moonshine and ash, not without feeling the weight of her lifeless body in his arms.

He never got to thank her.

When the prison fell, Daryl had been certain he’d never see Y/N again — that somehow, someway, she’d burned along with it. But Beth…she’d known — she’d known he’d find her again one day.

And he never got to thank her.

“I know you’re in pain,” Y/N’s voice broke through his guilt-ridden thoughts, drawing him back to her. “And I know how easy it is to just shove it down and push it away and pretend like it doesn’t exist,” she looked over at him then, her gaze steady and knowing — and despite the scrutiny, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. “And I’m not asking you to talk about it. But please, just — just don’t pretend like it’s not there.”

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his teeth breaking skin and filling his senses with the metallic taste of blood.

When Y/N reached towards him, he stiffened.

She slowly brushed away the hair that fell in front of his eyes, smoothing the strands back out of his face. “You’re not carved out of stone, Daryl,” she murmured gently before resting her palm against his flushed cheek.

The air suddenly thickened, the archer becoming painfully aware of how little space remained between them. There was a pull — almost magnetic — that urged him to lean closer, to draw nearer, to take her in his arms and shut out the rest of the world.

But before he could give into instinct, he pulled away and hopped off the hood of the car, landing on his feet with a huff.

Daryl looked anywhere but at her, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingertips. “M’ gonna —” he quickly cleared the thickness in his throat. “M’ gonna take a look ‘round — see what I can see.”

Y/N was quiet, though the archer didn’t dare look at her. “Okay,” she finally sounded — and even though Daryl couldn’t see her expression, he could hear the tangible defeat in her tone.

He clenched his jaw, kicking himself for being the source of her disappointment as he beelined towards the woods on the other side of the road, opposite the campsite.

But he’d only taken a couple of steps when he faltered, realizing then that he couldn’t just walk away — he’d never been able to just walk away.

Not from her.

“I hear ya,” he rasped, glancing back at her, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Ya know, what ya were sayin’ before an’ — an’ all that. I jus’ — I hear ya,” he mustered, the jumbled explanation all he could offer.

A tired smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “I know,” she assured him softly.

Daryl held her gaze before nodding once, turning without another word, and disappearing into the trees.

A newfound determination coursed through the archer as he ventured further into the woods — there had to be something else out there, somewhere his people could call ‘home’. They couldn’t keep going on like this, fighting day-to-day just to survive — it couldn’t be them and the dead anymore.

There had to be something else, something more.

The world couldn’t be all bad.

Not the same world that’d given him her.

Daryl pulled his gaze away from the darkened sky.

His eyes trailed over the towering gates that surrounded Alexandria — sturdy iron sheets and impenetrable steel, the only thing keeping away the dead that roamed just outside them. He brushed his fingers over the ground, tugging at the overgrown blades of grass beneath where he sat as he fell back in thought.

Despite his initial doubt that Alexandria was all it promised to be, in time, the community had proven him wrong. Sure, there were fractures in its foundation, but it was better than nothing.

It was better than before.

And for the first time since the end of everything, there was hope for a future.

Smoke spilled past the archer’s lips, wafting in front of him before disappearing into the night air.

The streets of Alexandria were still — a welcomed change in comparison to life outside the walls. Daryl shifted on the porch steps, taking another drag from his cigarette as he rested his back against the railing. He tilted his head backward, blowing out a lungful of smoke, feeling his nerves calm in the process.

“Hey, stranger,” a voice suddenly called, breaking the quiet that’d stretched on.

Daryl knew that voice — knew it better than the back of his own damn hand.

He quickly shook away the hair that’d fallen in front of his eyes, watching as Y/N approached.

She looked different — her hair was washed, her clothes no longer blood-stained and tattered. The lines of worry that’d marred her features were smoothed away, replaced by a warm smile that only grew the closer she neared. It was strange — almost like getting a glimpse of her before the dead started walking.

Her footsteps slowed as she stopped in front of him, her head cocking slightly to the side. “What’s that look for?”

Daryl ducked his head down, his face feeling fuzzy — like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothin’,” he shook his head, inhaling another drag from his cigarette before stubbing the flame out against the porch steps.

Y/N plopped down beside him, propping her back up against the railing opposite his. “So,” she started, turning her attention towards him. “Deanna was asking where you were tonight.”

The archer scoffed as he flicked the cigarette butt away. “Aaron’s,” he rasped, pulling one knee to his chest, resting his elbow on top of it.

Y/N appeared surprised at his response but didn’t push further. Instead, she exhaled heavily. “This place is like the fucking Twilight Zone.”

He huffed a breath, nodding in agreement. “Ya headin’ back over there?” he rumbled after a moment, jerking his head in the direction of the welcome party.

“Oh, no,” she quickly shook her head. “I’m sick of people,” she admitted before glancing over at him. “You don’t count.”

Daryl snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes despite the strange sort of pride her words brought him.

A beat of silence passed before Y/N spoke again. “Aaron seems like a good guy.”

The archer grunted softly in response, their conversation from earlier coming to mind. “He wants me ta’ start scoutin’ with him — findin’ other survivors, bringin’ ‘em back.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Daryl sounded, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

“Is that something you’d wanna do?” she asked, leaning forward a fraction.

He paused, taking a minute to consider her words. If he was being honest, he felt more comfortable outside Alexandria’s walls than inside — and having a good enough reason to be back on the road didn’t seem like such a bad thing. But if he was being really honest…

Daryl’s gaze met Y/N’s once more — he hadn’t been away from her since the prison fell.

That wasn’t exactly a time in his life he’d like to revisit.

“I do alright out there, I guess,” he shrugged a shoulder up, dropping his hand back into his lap.

A look of amusement flashed over her features in response. “That’s quite the understatement.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but he couldn’t seem to ease the sudden worry gnawing at him. “Ya gonna be alright in here?” he rasped, steadying her with a serious look.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” she countered smoothly — but Daryl could hear the hint of something in her tone, something he couldn’t quite place. When he remained silent, Y/N’s expression turned reflective. “I think it’ll be a good thing — you could help a lot of people out there who need it.”

The archer picked up on her deflection. “That ain’t what m’ askin’,” he retorted, calling her bluff.

Y/N looked as though she wanted to argue — but then her lips pressed together, forming a thin line. “I don’t know,” she finally said, avoiding his gaze. “I just — I don’t like being away from you, that’s all,” she admitted quietly, wringing her clasped hands together.

He stilled, never having been more grateful for nightfall — otherwise, she surely would’ve seen the sudden redness creeping over his cheeks.

“But, like I said,” she continued, exhaling a slightly awkward laugh. “It’ll be a good thing.”

He nodded once. “Mhm,” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

Her eyes softened before she began pulling herself up off the porch steps. “Well, I’m gonna get some sleep — see you in the morning?”

The archer cleared his throat. “I’ll see ya,” he rumbled.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she headed up the steps, gently squeezing his shoulder as she passed.

He didn’t move a muscle, listening intently for the sound of the front door shutting before closing his eyes, ignoring the tingling sensation beneath where she’d touched him.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

Had he given into instinct that night, he would’ve told her the truth.

He would’ve told her that he felt the same way, that being away from her felt like losing half of himself, that nothing in his life had ever made sense until he met her. The words had toyed at the tip of his tongue, desperate to be heard after being swallowed time and time again — but he just hadn’t been able to do it.

He could almost hear Merle’s snide voice in the back of his head — taunting him, calling him ‘whipped’ and a ‘pussy’ and a ‘good-for-nothin’ redneck’, mocking him for even considering that someone like her could feel anything for someone like him.

So instead, he’d reverted back to what he knew best — shutting down and pushing away.

It wasn’t intentional, merely second nature after years and years of repetition.

But the wall he’d worked so hard to build stood no chance.

Not against her.

Daryl knew something was wrong the moment he crossed back through Alexandria’s gates.

And then the screaming started.

He took off into a sprint, his heart mimicking the echo of his footsteps pounding against the asphalt. He could hear Aaron and Morgan just behind, right on his heels, their heavy breathing mirroring his own as the sounds of anguish grew louder.

The archer felt his stomach drop the closer he neared, his mind repeating one, single phrase over and over again —

Just let her be okay.

When he and Aaron had gotten trapped in that car earlier, surrounded by walkers, he’d thought that was it for him. He was going to lead the dead away and give Aaron enough time to make it out, to make it back to Alexandria where he could continue doing what he did best — bringing salvation to those who needed it.

He’d made peace with his decision.

And as he’d grabbed the door handle, moments away from pushing into the raging swarm, he’d only been thinking one thing —

Just let her be okay.

For some reason, he’d been given a second chance and all he wanted was to see her again. It was nearly overwhelming, setting his nerves ablaze, sending his heart racing — it consumed him entirely, the thought of her.

He’d realized then what he should’ve known all along.

He’d never felt for anyone the way he felt for her.

Daryl finally found the others, all gathered in the center of town — but he barely had time to register what was happening when a single gunshot rang out.

Aaron and Morgan stood frozen beside him as they took in the scene — Rick had a gun in hand, the barrel pointed towards the ground, directly above Pete’s now-shattered skull. The crowd looked on in horror, huddled together near a dimly lit fire, eyes wide, mouths agape. Then he saw Reg — his throat sliced open, his body splayed out across Deanna’s lap, Michonne’s bloody katana lying beside him.

“Rick?” Morgan suddenly spoke, breaking the deafening silence that’d followed.

The sound drew Rick’s attention, his vacant eyes finding Morgan’s — but Daryl’s gaze drifted, meeting hers instead.

His stomach dropped when he saw her — she had one hand pressed against her cheek, blood trickling out from between her fingers, her face frozen in disbelief.

Daryl moved towards her, the rest of the world fading away.

Just let her be okay.

Y/N’s expression shifted as he neared, the apprehension that’d marred her features melting, turning into relief despite her ashen complexion and the chaos surrounding them. She absently shook her head back and forth, opening her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

The archer came to a stop in front of her, his own voice lost somewhere deep inside his chest. So instead, he reached for her, very carefully, as though she’d been spun from glass. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her face, revealing a gash that stretched across the entirety of her cheek.

The swell of rage that coursed through him felt red-hot, flushing his skin as he stared at the wound, his eyes glinting dangerously by the light of the fire.

“She caught the nasty end of Petey-boy’s backswing,” came Abraham’s gruff voice.

Daryl hadn’t even realized the man approached — he was too busy thinking up new ways to bring Pete back to life, all so he could shoot the dead prick dead all over again.

Abraham crouched down a few inches beside him, taking a closer look at Y/N’s injury before whistling softly. “Ya must be ridin’ the gravy train with biscuit wheels, lil’ lady. That sack a’ shit damn near took your eye out,” he drawled before glancing over at Daryl. “Don’t think she needs stitches — unless someone wants ta’ reincarnate Dr. Dickwad for a second opinion.”

Y/N attempted to huff a laugh, but the motion had her wincing, her features twisting in pain.

And Daryl had seen enough.

He grunted a gruff ‘I got it’, giving Abraham a nod of appreciation before taking Y/N by the elbow and maneuvering her away from the others, back onto the street.

She allowed him to guide her elsewhere, neither saying a single word.

The two houses Deanna had provided to the group had been split amongst the lot of them. Daryl chose to reside in the finished basement — it was small and dingy, but he didn’t mind. The room had a couch and a bathroom and was much nicer than any other place he’d ever stayed at — even before the end of times.

And right now, it was serving as a makeshift infirmary.

Y/N sat perched on the edge of the couch, her knee bouncing anxiously as she watched Daryl barrel around the space like a rampant tornado. He grabbed whatever he could think of — the first aid kit stored beneath the bathroom sink, a bottle of water, a clean t-shirt to swap out for her blood-spattered one — before making his way back to her. He set the items down on the coffee table in front of the couch and took a seat on the edge of it, opposite her.

Still, neither spoke.

Daryl kept his eyes focused on the slash mark — that was much easier than acknowledging the absence of space between them. He unscrewed the cap to the water bottle, emptying a small amount onto a dry piece of gauze before leaning forward. Ever so slowly, he dabbed at the blood that’d dripped down her face and onto her neck, ignoring the near-palpable tension.

Y/N sat still as a statue, tilting her head back slightly as he wiped away the redness. But when he moved further up, nearing the wound, she flinched, hissing reflexively. Daryl snatched his hand back as if slapped, his eyes meeting hers, quietly apologetic.

She nodded for him to continue, taking a deep breath and balling her hands into fists atop her thighs.

The archer worked his jaw, lightening his touch.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that — all he knew was that when he was with her, nothing else really seemed to matter.

Luckily, the wound wasn’t as severe as it’d initially appeared — it was fairly shallow, faint towards the edges, and in time would heal completely. He wanted to tell her so, but the words wouldn’t formulate — the silence that’d stretched on felt untouchable.

So instead, Daryl focused on her hands, wiping away the blood that’d stained the grooves of her skin — and although she tried to conceal it, he could feel the slight tremble in her fingertips.

After he was done cleaning her hands, he sat back, his knee brushing against hers. He glanced up, flicking his hair away and studying the cut on her face — it’d stopped bleeding, though the edges were an angry-red, spiking his own temper once more. The collar of her shirt was soaked crimson, the color more muted in areas that’d already dried.

He hadn’t noticed the way their hands remained intertwined until Y/N squeezed softly, snapping him back to reality.

Daryl pulled his hand from hers and stood, grabbing the extra t-shirt off the table and dropping it into her lap. He scooped up the first aid kit before spinning around and stalking back towards the bathroom, giving her privacy as she began to change.

The archer avoided his reflection entirely, certain he’d see nothing but flushed skin and remorseful eyes. He squatted down, yanking open the drawer beneath the sink and tossing the kit inside. He gnashed his teeth together and grabbed onto the counter, his grip white-knuckled around the edge.

He needed to get a fucking hold of himself, that was for damn sure.

After regaining his composure, Daryl slammed the drawer shut with more force than necessary and pulled himself up in one swift motion.

But his entire body froze, his blood running ice-cold, when he noticed Y/N in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, standing in the doorway behind him.

Their eyes met through the glass before the archer twisted around, facing her head-on.

Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him, her head tilting to the side, the wheels in her mind visibly turning though her expression remained unreadable. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. She inhaled a breath, opening her mouth, but quickly snapped it shut — and then something different flickered across her features, an expression he hadn’t seen before.

Daryl waited for her to speak, to finally break the prolonged quietness that’d carried on.

But then she was suddenly crossing towards him.

He didn’t realize what was happening until Y/N’s lips crashed against his.

It was as though a dam had broken open — every fleeting feeling, every moment of suppressed longing coming to a head after dancing around one another for so long. At first, Daryl’s entire body went numb, his brain scrambling to figure out just what in the hell was actually happening. His breath caught in his throat as he stiffened instinctually, years of touch deprivation and self-consciousness clawing their way to the surface, leaving him paralyzed against her.

But when Y/N pulled back, breaking away from the kiss, he found himself craving her in the spaces she’d filled.

Her eyes were wide, boring into his, her gaze a mixture of shock and awe that he was certain mirrored his own — like even she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She clung onto the collar of his shirt, the material balled in her fists.

Daryl’s chest heaved beneath her touch, his breathing syncing up with hers as they stared at one another, their noses only a few inches apart, each soaking the other in for what felt like the first time.

Something inside the archer fractured, right then and there. The wall he’d created inside his mind, the one designed to keep everyone at arm’s length, began to crumble. His guard fell to pieces, brick by brick, shattering at the very foundation he’d built it on.

And in its place…her.

Without any hesitation, Daryl slipped a hand behind Y/N’s neck and surged forward, closing the gap between them and bringing his lips to hers once more.

A soft gasp escaped her at first — one of surprise — the feel of it against his mouth sending a tingle down his spine before she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands slid down his chest, snaking around his middle as she pressed herself against him with similar desperation.

He slid his hand up the back of her head, holding her in place as their lips parted, exploring each other with a deeper intensity. His fingers tangled throughout her hair, desperate to feel her in all of the ways he’d denied himself of, his other hand rising to gently cup the side of her face.

But when Y/N inhaled sharply, suddenly jerking back a fraction, Daryl’s eyes snapped open.

“Ow, fuck,” she hissed, her expression pinched.

“Shit,” the archer rasped, realizing then that his hand had brushed up against the cut on her cheek. “Ya alright?” he rumbled, pulling back further to get a better look.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, her face lighting up in a way he’d never seen before. “Yeah,” she whispered hoarsely, her cheeks tinged pink, her lips red and slightly swollen.

Once again, Daryl found himself fighting to catch his breath.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat, carefully reaching forward and picking at a strand of hair that’d been swept out of place, tucking it behind her ear instead.

Y/N leaned into his palm, laying her hands against his chest, staring at him like she thought he’d hung the moon and painted the stars.

The look shifted into something deeper as she stepped back, ghosting her fingertips down each of his arms, his skin catching fire beneath her touch. She intertwined her hands around his calloused ones and began inching backward, slowly leading him out of the bathroom without another word.

The archer felt something stir deep inside him, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach as she guided him towards the couch. He was entranced — like a man who’d been lost at sea for far too long, finally catching a glimpse of salvation from a lighthouse, beckoning him home.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid.

Daryl flushed at the memory.

She still had that same damn effect on him. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how many years went by, he’d never tire of her. She was, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to him.

He’d always felt out of place — even before the end. It was like everybody who’d ever lived was somehow born knowing the same song and dance — and yet there he’d been, stumbling along, fighting to catch up and fall in step with the rest of the world. It’d isolated him, made him feel weak and undeserving — like no matter how hard he tried, he’d never truly belong.

And now?

The only comfortable place his mind seemed to know was her.

Daryl fought back a wince, his entire body tensing up.

“Almost done,” Denise murmured as she continued stitching up the laceration on his back.

“Ya said that an hour ago,” the archer grumbled in response, grinding his teeth together.

“It definitely wasn’t an hour and you’re the one who refused the numbing cream, remember?” she countered evenly, her tone unwavering.

The archer merely huffed in response, fighting back a scowl as he gripped tightly onto the edge of the metal table he sat on top of. He ignored the feeling of Denise’s needle digging into his skin, closing up the knife wound he’d received back on the road, surveying the quieted house-turned-infirmary instead.

Rick was in the next room over, not having moved from Carl’s bedside since the survivors had taken Alexandria back from the dead. Glenn and Maggie were huddled together on the cot across the room while Michonne rocked Judith back and forth, exiting the infirmary with her a moment later. The others were gathered outside, recuperating after the long and harrowing fight that’d taken place mere hours ago.

And then there was Y/N — she sat on the floor beside his dangling legs, her head resting against the side of his knee, his vest laid out across her curled form. He could tell by her steady breathing and the way her head lolled every so often that she’d fallen asleep against him.

The entire community was running on little to no sleep, having fought through the night, taking on the herd that’d invaded their home — now, hundreds of bodies littered the streets, the wall that’d collapsed needed to be rebuilt, and those they’d lost during the attack needed to be buried.

Daryl glanced down when he heard a soft sigh, feeling his chest constrict as Y/N nestled closer.

She hadn’t strayed far since he’d returned and honestly, he wasn’t quite ready to be away from her either — especially after what happened on the road. Over the two days he was gone, he’d nearly lost his life on more than one occasion — and from what he'd heard, she’d nearly lost hers when the Wolves attacked.

But they were okay — she was okay — and that was what mattered.

Michonne reentered the infirmary a moment later, the exhaustion on her face mirroring his own. Judith, on the other hand, had fallen asleep in her arms, curled up against her chest, dark blonde wisps of hair sticking to her forehead.

“How’re you holding up?” Michonne asked softly as she approached the table, not wanting to wake Judith — or Y/N, for that matter.

“Jus’ a scratch, is all,” Daryl rumbled in response, peeking over his shoulder at Denise who remained focused on the wound.

Michonne nodded, rubbing small circles against Judith’s back. “I sent everyone home — Rosita and Heath are keeping watch where the wall came down. We’ll clear the dead once everyone gets some rest.”

“Alright,” Daryl rasped, a bone-deep tiredness beginning to seep in.

Before leaving, Michonne paused, looking down at Y/N’s sleeping form. When she glanced back up, her expression had shifted into something softer, something less tense. “She’s good for you,” she suddenly murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You deserve that,” she whispered, reaching out and squeezing his hand, still latched around the edge of the table.

Daryl’s hand flexed beneath hers as he glanced down at the top of Y/N’s head — did he really deserve someone like her?

He’d spend the rest of his life wondering that.

Michonne patted the top of his hand before pulling away, disappearing into Carl’s room without another word, Judith still fast asleep against her.

“Alrighty,” Denise exhaled, drawing him back to the present. “You, my friend, are free to go.”

The archer grunted a gruff ‘thanks’ as she began cleaning up the supplies she’d used to stitch him up. He bit back a grimace as he pulled his shirt over his head, feeling the stitches stretch as he moved.

He reached forward then, gently ruffling the top of Y/N’s head, stirring her awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before craning her neck and looking up, her bleary gaze meeting his. “All done?” she murmured, her voice slightly croaky.

“Mhm,” he sounded, sliding off the table and offering his hand to her.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she grabbed it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She swayed, fighting back a yawn, Daryl’s hand finding the small of her back and steadying her. Wordlessly, she held out his vest, which he slowly slipped back on, grinding his teeth together as a sharp jolt of pain shot across his shoulder.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she watched him, her eyes narrowing — but before she could comment, Denise approached once more.

“Change the gauze in a couple of hours and take two of these for the pain,” she informed, holding out a small bundle of supplies, including fresh bandages and pills. “Doctor’s orders."

But Daryl waved her off. “Save ‘em,” he grumbled, carefully adjusting his vest.

He saw Y/N throw him a glance from the corner of his eye, though she didn’t protest — instead, she stepped forward and held her hand out.

Denise passed the supplies to her before lifting her glasses and rubbing one eye with the back of her hand, her fingertips stained red with blood. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything strenuous for a few days or he’ll tear the stitches,” she continued, speaking solely to Y/N as she set her glasses back in place.

Daryl huffed a breath. “M’ standin’ right here, ya know.”

Y/N nudged him in the ribcage, giving him a look that clearly translated to ‘be nice’.

Denise directed her attention back to the archer. “Don’t tear my stitches,” she reiterated emphatically before her expression eased. “Rest, relax, sleep — both of you.” She shot Y/N a pointed look before shooing them towards the front door, heading over to check in with Glenn and Maggie.

Y/N glanced over at Daryl once they were alone, her eyebrow quirking playfully. “I like this new side of Denise.”

The arched scoffed in response, flicking the hair from his face. “I liked it better when she was scared a’ me,” he grumbled as they fell in step, making their way out of the infirmary and back outside.

A laugh slipped past Y/N’s lips as they crossed over the porch. “Sounds about right,” she grinned, thoroughly amused.

“S’ true,” he shrugged his uninjured shoulder up as they made their way down the stairs and back onto the street.

“You know, you really aren’t that sc—”

Y/N stopped mid-sentence, her footsteps halting abruptly. Daryl faltered as well, glancing back at her, his brow knitting together. Before he could ask what was wrong, he realized what she was looking at.

In the light of day, the aftermath of the attack was startling. There were more bodies than he could count, rotted and decaying, bones torn through skin, blood spilling out onto the street, stark against the asphalt. The carnage was overwhelming, the reality of what they’d accomplished, as well as what they’d almost lost, suddenly settling in.

“We’ll fix this place up — make sure nothin’ like this ever happens again,” Daryl rasped, not entirely certain if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

Y/N’s expression turned solemn. “It’s not the dead I worry about,” she fixed him with a stare, her gaze flickering towards the wound on his back before she continued surveying the damage done to their community.

There wasn’t anything he could say that would make her feel better — not in a world as dark and void and meaningless as the one they lived in.

The only thing he could do was just be there.

Daryl reached for her, slipping his hand around hers and squeezing softly, drawing her back to him.

Although Y/N kept her eyes forward, he felt the tension leave her.

And then she squeezed back.

The archer huffed a breath, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

Well, maybe the world wasn’t entirely meaningless.

Daryl stood still beneath the shower head, warm water washing over his body.

But he couldn’t focus on that — all he could focus on was Y/N, standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle, her bare chest pressed against his back. He closed his eyes, committing the feeling to memory — her heart steadily pounding against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder as water continued to cascade down their bodies.

She pulled back slightly, gently pressing her lips against one of the scars on his back.

Daryl felt a chill run down his spine despite the steam around him, fighting back the instinctual urge to stiffen — and as she moved to the next scar and the next, softly kissing each one, he couldn’t help but melt beneath her touch.

He turned then, feeling the tips of his ear redden at the sight of her before he quickly averted his gaze.

Y/N laughed, soft and sweet, reaching towards him and brushing the hair from his face.

Daryl caught her hand with his own, pressing her palm flat against the curve of his jaw. The cut on her cheek had healed, leaving only a faint, thin line below her eye. His own knife wound was still fresh, but in time, would heal as well.

He brought his hand up and gently brushed his thumb across the length of the mark before tilting her head back, bringing his lips to hers.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden boldness came from — still, Y/N returned the kiss, her arms snaking around his neck, his around her waist.

It wasn’t until the water began to run cold that Daryl, begrudgingly, turned the shower off.

They moved about in comfortable silence — drying off, changing into clean clothes, completing eerily normal and mundane tasks that had the archer wondering if he’d somehow transported into an alternate reality without realizing it.

But the blood and muck that’d washed off their bodies and collected at the bottom of the tub reminded him otherwise.

It’d taken three whole days to clear Alexandria of all the walkers that’d infiltrated their walls. Now, they could start rebuilding, reinforcing, doing whatever they needed to do to make sure an attack like that never happened again.

Daryl climbed into the bed he shared with Y/N, having moved up from the basement and into her room after that first night they’d spent together. He winced as he rotated his shoulder — despite Denise’s instructions to limit arduous activity, he’d worked the past three days from sun up to sun down in removing all the bodies from within the gates.

Y/N had tried to get him to take it easy, but he hadn’t — that just wasn’t in his nature.

She crawled into bed after him, sighing softly as she settled by his side, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. She held her hand out towards him and in her palm, two pills — he recognized them as the ones Denise had given her.

Daryl huffed a breath.

“Don’t make me say ‘please’,” she warned, raising her brow expectantly.

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes but took the pills anyway, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with the bottle of water he’d left by the bedside. Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she laid down, curling onto her side, facing away from him.

He reached over, wrapping an arm around her middle and dragging her towards him, eliciting a surprised laugh from her. She nestled closer, her back pressed against his chest, one hand clasped around his forearm, drawing absent circles against his skin with her thumb.

Daryl felt himself fading, slipping into unconsciousness after a long, tiring day of survival.

But just before the world darkened entirely, a whisper broke through the quiet.

“I love you.”

The archer’s eyes snapped open. Part of him wondered if Y/N was sleep-talking. An even bigger part of him figured he’d imagined it because there was no way — no way in hell — she could’ve consciously and deliberately said that to him.

But then she was shifting, rolling onto her back and looking up at him.

He searched her gaze for something, anything — a punchline, an explanation, a ‘hah, fooled ya!’ — that would explain what in the fuck he’d just heard.

Except that didn’t happen.

Instead, Y/N slowly nodded, like she was finally coming to terms with her own blatantly impromptu confession. “Yeah, I-I do — I —” she fumbled slightly in her admittance before steadying. “I love you,” she murmured, blinking up at him.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind screaming at him to say something instead of just staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. He could feel the words toying at the tip of his tongue — he wanted to say it, he did, because…well, of course. Of course, he wanted to. But it was like his body was physically rejecting a response.

Y/N patiently watched him struggle, giving him a second to get his shit together, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

The archer pushed up onto his elbow, clearing his throat, his cheeks burning red. “I, uh,” he grumbled, shaking his head slightly. “Y-Yeah, I —” he faltered, clearly struggling. But when his baffled gaze met her kind one, almost instantly, his wall of insecurity diminished. “Yeah,” the single word came out resolute and sure, everything he needed her to hear.

Y/N’s smile grew, stretching across her face, bright enough to light the sky on fire. “Yeah?” she asked softly, reading between the lines.

Daryl nodded once. “Yeah,” he rasped thickly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was.

He’d felt that way since the day he met her, even if he hadn’t known it.

She reached up, twisting her fingers in his hair and bringing his face down to meet hers, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

Then she was curling onto her other side so they laid chest to chest, her head tucked beneath his chin as she snuggled closer, his arms wrapping around her instinctually.

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, limbs weaved around one another like coiled rope. But when her breathing evened out, he pulled back and snuck a glance, tracing every inch of her face as though the first time and the last. He brought his hand to her face, carefully brushing back the hair that’d swept over her features before leaning in and pressing a kiss against her forehead.

Then sleep came for him as well.

Daryl dropped his hand back into his lap, drawing his legs to his chest.

Being with Y/N was effortless — as easy as breathing. It came, somewhat alarmingly, natural to him. He’d never pictured himself with anyone ever. Before the end, before her, he’d been content to sit on the sidelines and watch all the relationships around him undoubtedly burn — it was all he’d ever known, it was all he’d ever seen.

But then she came along and flipped his entire world upside down.

A love that came without warning.

“Let’s get this shit loaded up — looks like it’s gonna rain soon,” Daryl rumbled, peering up at the darkening sky, noticing a cluster of bulbous clouds rolling in.

Y/N tilted her head back, following his gaze before humming a breath. “I don’t know — the wind’s blowing East. It might just miss us,” she remarked, catching the archer’s eye, a mischievous look flashing across her features. “Wanna make a bet?”

Daryl scoffed a breath in response, shutting the car trunk filled with scavenged supplies and adjusting the strap of the rifle slung across his chest — he was still getting used to the weapon. It felt unfamiliar in comparison to the weight of his crossbow. The reminder of his stolen weapon sent a flush of anger through his veins. He’d find those assholes someday and get it back, that was for damn sure.

“Come on,” Y/N grinned, drawing him back as she hefted another box over to him, dropping it onto the ground with a huff. “How about this? If it rains…I’ll take your watch shift tonight with Elizabeth.”

The archer quirked a brow, suddenly intrigued. Elizabeth was one of the original members of Alexandria — and she was…chatty. “Fine,” he nodded, opening the car door and lobbing the box she’d brought over onto the backseat. “She’s always yappin’ ‘bout books an’ shit I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout. Damn irritatin’ sometimes,” he grumbled.

Y/N laughed at his aggravation, turning to pick up another box. “I like her,” she shrugged, making her way towards him.

Daryl huffed a breath, waving her off. “Alright an’ if it doesn’t rain? What’d ya want?” he questioned, taking the box from her hands and sliding it into the car.

Before she had the chance to respond, Rick suddenly appeared, pushing through the front doors of the high school they’d been scavenging — it’d been turned into a FEMA evacuation center right at the beginning of the end. It’d somehow, miraculously, been left untouched — the doors and windows had been barred and chained, but luckily they’d had the tools needed to break in.

It’d been a little over a month since Alexandria had been overrun with the dead — the wall had been rebuilt and fortified, but the survivors had been hesitant to venture outside the gates after what happened the last time. Regardless, supplies were dwindling and a run had to be made.

“How’s it comin’ along out here?” Rick called as he jogged down the front steps and into the parking lot.

“Filled up the trunk pretty good — gonna need another car or two jus’ ta’ fit the rest a’ this shit,” Daryl remarked as the sheriff approached, motioning to the rest of the unpacked boxes lying around.

Rick came to a stop in front of them, one hand resting on top of the handle of his pistol strapped around his waist. “This is good — this is real good,” a rare smile spread across his face, so unlike the usual tension in his features.

“Tara’s finishing up around back — she’s grabbing the rest of the stuff from the greenhouse,” Y/N relayed to Rick, sharing a hopeful look with the archer. “We’ve got enough stuff to last us, I don’t know, at least another couple of months — that’ll be enough time to get some crops growing, maybe even a garden or two.”

Rick huffed a laugh in disbelief, shaking his head. “Who would’a thought,” he mused to himself before taking a breath. “Alright, I’m gonna grab a few last things inside an’ then we’ll lock up — come back tomorrow with a couple a’ cars an’ clean this place out.”

The sheriff left without another word, leaving Daryl and Y/N alone once again.

He began rearranging the boxes in the backseat, making sure there was enough room for two people to sit there on the way back home.

“A date,” Y/N suddenly spoke, catching him off guard.

Daryl straightened, turning back around to look at her, his brow knitting together. “Huh?”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked up as she took a step towards him. “If I win, if it doesn’t rain today…I want you to take me on a date.”

The archer tilted his head to the side, trying to distinguish if she was joking or not. “Ya serious?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, a sort of awkward laugh slipping past her lips. “I know it’s stupid — and given the way you’re looking at me right now, I know you’re thinking the same thing,” she laughed again as he quickly erased the skepticism from his expression. “But that’s —” she shrugged a shoulder up, “— that’s what I want.”

Daryl scratched the side of his head, flicking the hair from his face as he studied her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the car. “That really what ya want?”

“Mhm,” she sounded. “And it doesn’t have to be anything special — just us and, I don’t know…maybe Aaron can whip up some of his famous spaghetti,” a soft smile grew on her face as she looked at him. “I, uh — I just — I want to do this right, you know?” her expression turned earnest. “I want those moments with you, Daryl.”

The archer felt a swell of warmth spread throughout him as he looked at her, feeling his resolve give way. “Alright,” he managed to rasp, his throat tight with emotion.

“Alright,” Y/N reiterated with a nod, sticking her hand out, a playful look in her eye.

Daryl snorted a laugh as he reached out and grasped her hand with his own, shaking once to seal the deal.

Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she pulled from his grip. “We should —”

“Guys?” Tara’s voice suddenly sounded, drawing their attention.

Daryl knew as he pushed off the car, as he turned around that something was very wrong — he could hear it in her tone.

It took a moment for him to fully register the scene before him — a wide-eyed Tara just a few feet away, standing straight as an arrow, holding her hands up near her head.

Then he spotted a man.

The stranger stood just behind Tara, one arm wrapped around her neck, the other holding a gun, the barrel pressed against her temple. He was young, maybe early twenties, though it was hard to tell with all of the blood coating his skin. He peered over Tara’s shoulder, his frantic gaze bouncing wildly back and forth between the archer and Y/N.

Daryl’s protective instinct kicked in as he took a step forward, drawing the man’s attention, keeping Y/N out of his line of fire. His hand automatically reached for the rifle strapped around him but his movements stilled when the man’s eyes widened, his arm tightening around Tara’s neck.

“Hey, take it easy,” Daryl held out his hands in front of him.

“Move,” the man growled, jerking his head to the side. “Away from the car.”

Daryl felt Y/N grab a fistful of material from his shirt, slowly pulling him back as the man moved towards them, keeping Tara in front of him to conceal his body.

A tense standoff of sorts stretched on as they maneuvered around, the man never taking his eyes off of Daryl. When the stranger made it to the driver’s side of the car, he unwound his arm from around Tara’s neck, using it to open the door instead — though his finger remained twitching above the trigger. Once the door was opened, he faltered, realizing he’d lose the coverage of Tara’s body if he tried to get inside.

“Take it,” Y/N suddenly spoke, stepping out from behind Daryl with her hands near her head, drawing the man’s attention.

The archer shot her a sharp glance. “Y/N —”

“Take the car, take the supplies, take whatever you need,” she continued calmly, ignoring Daryl’s growled protest. “Just let her go, okay? No one’s here to hurt you.”

The stranger’s expression shifted, the animalistic look on his face shifting into something that resembled more of a quiet desperation than anything else. “I —“ he shook his head quickly, shifting back and forth. “I just need — I just need to go — I need to go.”

Y/N took another step forward, the side of her arm brushing against Daryl’s. “Okay,” she nodded, exhaling a breath. “That’s okay — just let our friend go and —”

Her sentence was interrupted by the front door of the school swinging open.

Daryl whipped his head around, feeling his stomach drop when he spotted Rick walking out with a stack of boxes — but when the sheriff noticed the standoff happening just down the steps, the boxes came crashing down, falling out of his hands, and instead…he grabbed his pistol.

It was as though everything happened in slow motion.

The stranger’s expression twisted as his sights set in on Rick — he swung the barrel of his gun away from Tara, who instantly dropped to the ground as the man pointed the weapon up the steps, and then…

A barrage of gunfire sounded as Rick and the man began shooting at one another in rapid succession. The sheriff used the front door as a shield, attempting to fire from around the frame, the awkward angle throwing off his aim. The stranger, on the other hand, fired away in no particular direction — his aim was erratic and panicked as he tried using the car door as coverage.

When a bullet flew past the side of Daryl’s head, he dove towards Y/N. He knocked her off her feet and onto the pavement, attempting to take cover from the shootout. The archer flipped onto his back, fumbling for his rifle before finally getting a grip and pointing it at the man.

But before he could take a shot, the stranger threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut, bullets from Rick’s pistol embedding into the metal. He peeled recklessly out of the parking lot, still firing from out of the opened window as he made his getaway.

Despite one of the back tires exploding after getting hit with a stray bullet, the stranger kept driving, disappearing onto the main road and out of sight, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

“What the fuck?” Tara called from where she’d taken cover.

“Is everybody alright?” Rick yelled back, coming out from behind the door and running down the steps.

Daryl twisted onto his side, looking over at Y/N. “Hey, ya alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she murmured shakily, pushing up onto her hands and knees. “I’m okay.”

The archer let out a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet and surveying the damage done around them as Rick appeared at his side.

“What an asshole,” Tara swore, coming to a stand as her eyes bounced between Rick, Daryl, and Y/N. “Seriously, what kind of —”

Daryl looked over at her, waiting to hear the rest — but that was when he noticed her staring at something just behind him, the horrified expression on her face filling him with a vast and all-consuming sense of dread.

The archer spun around.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/N stood a few feet away, swaying unsteadily, her hand pressed tightly against the center of her stomach. Her head was lowered, bowed to her chest as she slowly pulled her trembling hand away, revealing a stark redness pooling from her midsection, staining the front of her shirt. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, the shock in her gaze surely mirroring his own.

“No,” Daryl whispered, the word sounding strangled in his throat as Y/N’s knees suddenly began to give out. “No!” he roared, rushing forward and grabbing onto her before she could collapse.

His arms slipped around her middle before he carefully lowered her onto the ground, her head drooping down against his shoulder. His heart pounded so violently against his ribcage, part of him wondered if it was giving out on him entirely — maybe it was. Maybe this was what dying felt like. Maybe this was what it felt like to have your soul ripped straight out of your body.

Daryl cradled the back of Y/N’s head with one hand as he laid her down flat against the pavement, her eyes wide and unseeing, staring straight up at the sky. “Hey, hey, look a’ me, jus�� look a’ me,” he urged, brushing the hair back from her face, ignoring the blood now staining his hands — her blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” she mumbled, repeating it over and over again as though she could will it to be true — though her skin grew more ashen with each minute that slipped by.

Rick suddenly kneeled on the opposite side of Y/N, taking a piece of cloth and holding it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructed Daryl and although he tried to conceal it, the archer could hear the way his voice wavered. “You jus’ hold on, Y/N, understand? We’re gonna get you outta here,” he promised, reaching down and squeezing one of her hands before disappearing.

Daryl watched him leave, dragging a teary-eyed, slack-jawed Tara along with him as they began frantically searching the abandoned parking lot for any working vehicles — it was their only chance at getting her back to Alexandria.

And if they didn’t…

No.

No, he couldn’t go there.

Instead, he pressed the cloth against the gunshot wound, attempting to stall the blood flow, the pressure eliciting a pained whimper from Y/N that almost made the contents of his stomach reappear. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya,” he rasped, grabbing her limp hand with his own and intertwining their fingers, holding his other hand firmly against her stomach.

His words seemed to bring her back to him, her hollow gaze shifting into one of panic — like she only just realized what was happening. Her features crumpled, a flash of fear skirting across her face as the shock began to wear off. “Am — am I dying?” she managed to choke out, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she looked up at him.

“No,” he shook his head resolutely, feeling moisture build in the corners of his own eyes. “No, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear me?” his grip tightened around her hand — like his touch alone could keep her there with him. “We’re gonna get ya back ta’ Alexandria an’ — an’ get ya patched up, good as new, alright? Ya jus’ gotta hang on for me, girl.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered as a tear snaked down the side of her face. “I-I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, a sob hitching in her throat.

“Hey, it’s gonna — ya gonna — jus’ — Rick!” Daryl suddenly bellowed, sitting back on his haunches and desperately scanning the area for any sign of him or Tara. He spotted them at the opposite end of the parking lot, running from car to car, searching for keys or at least a way to jumpstart one of the abandoned vehicles.

But luck was not seeming to be on their side.

Daryl let out a vicious string of curses before focusing back on Y/N. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life — and God, if he could, he’d take her place in a second.

She was fading — fading so rapidly it made him dizzy. Her skin was cold to the touch, her lips tinged a disturbing shade of blue, her eyes lacking the warmth he was so used to seeing. He felt a swell of emotion rise in his throat, threatening to consume him, but he shoved it down.

“Hey, y-you were right,” she murmured weakly, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she tilted her head to look up at the sky once more. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

Daryl felt a tear spill down his cheek as he followed her eye line, the previously blue sky now blanketed with thick, dark clouds. He huffed a humorless laugh, their conversation from a few minutes earlier ringing through his mind, somehow seeming like an entire lifetime ago. “Guess that means ya — ya gotta take watch tonight, right?” he rasped despondently, keeping his gaze towards the sky.

He stilled when he was met with nothing but a deafening silence.

He felt his stomach roll as he squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he'd see if he looked down. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

When she didn’t respond, Daryl knew.

She was gone.

His girl was gone.

And his entire world came crashing down around him.

Daryl forced his eyes open.

His body went numb at the sight of her, his mind refusing to accept the image before him — empty eyes, grey flesh, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her hand slipped from his grasp then, dropping onto the pavement beside her unmoving form as she continued staring vacantly up at the sky.

His brain couldn’t process what was happening — where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. It felt like a nightmare — a reality that wasn’t quite reality, warped and desolate and consuming him whole. The only tangible thing he felt was a sharp, physical pain in the center of his chest, his breaths short and hitched, causing black spots to dance in his vision.

Over the blood rushing to his ears, he could just barely make out the sound of a car engine, the noise muted and dull as it approached…

But it was too late.

They were too late.

Daryl reached for her hesitantly, hands trembling as he wound his arms beneath her back and carefully scooped her up off the ground, falling back slightly as he pulled her body across his lap. When her head lolled listlessly to the side, he brought his hand up, brushing his bloodstained fingers through her hair before cradling the back of her head, pressing his cheek against hers.

“Ya said —” he squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as his grip around her lifeless body tightened. “Ya said ya were okay,” he choked out brokenly, his own shock slowly wearing off as something deep inside his soul fractured.

Then he broke.

And the sky opened up and wept alongside him.

The sound of barking drew Daryl back to reality.

He glanced over his shoulder, quickly blinking away the tears that’d formed, spotting Dog trotting towards him. The German Shepard’s tongue hung lazily out of his mouth, his easy pace picking up the closer he neared, letting out another short bark.

Daryl rumbled a laugh as Dog came to a halt at his side, plopping down next to him. “Hey, boy,” he rasped softly, scratching behind his dog’s ear and earning a sloppy lick in return He wiped away the moisture from his cheek as the canine laid down beside him with a huff. “Good, Dog.”

The archer ran his fingers through his sleek fur, feeling his throat tighten. When he’d found the German Shepard a few years back, he’d remembered the conversation with Y/N from back at the prison — and it’d only felt right to name him ‘Dog’.

It’s what she would’ve wanted — and somehow, it made him feel just a little bit closer to her.

“Man, she would’a loved ya,” he whispered thickly, sighing a long and heavy breath.

Daryl looked forward once more, studying the small gravestone in front of him — her gravestone.

For a long time, he stayed away. He hadn't been able to go near where she'd been laid to rest, he just couldn’t — it was too fucking painful, like part of himself had been buried right along with her. But over time, the grief became easier to manage — it never went away, it'd never go away — but he found a way to exist alongside it.

Now, he found a strange sort of peace here.

It’d been years since he’d lost her — she’d been gone for longer than he’d known her. It was hard to keep track of time these days, they seemed to come and go without rhyme or reason. So much had happened since that day — the war against the Saviors, the looming threat of the Whisperers, losing friends, family, Rick…

Time seemed to move differently after losing the people loved most.

After that day at the high school, Daryl had tried to find the man responsible for what happened to Y/N — he’d gone back to the high school, wild and unhinged in his grief, hellbent on retracing their steps and tracking down the stranger. He’d needed revenge, bloodshed, he’d needed the man to know what he’d done, who he’d taken from the world.

Despite the improbability, the archer had no trouble finding him.

The back tire that had been blown out during the exchange of gunfire had sent the car careening down an embankment and into a large tree less than a mile from the school. One of the branches had broken through the windshield and punctured the man’s chest, most likely killing him on impact.

He’d reanimated still strapped in the driver’s seat.

Daryl left him that way.

It wasn’t the ending he’d hoped for, but maybe it was the ending he deserved.

He reached down, absently stroking the top of Dog’s head, and inhaled a deep breath.

Not a single day went by without the thought of her.

She came and went — like a flash of light or the beat of a heart. Daryl had barely had any time to hold onto her before she was gone — and he would’ve held her so much tighter had he known it’d be the last chance he’d have.

Some people were just too bright to stay, too good for what the world had become — at least that’s what he told himself on the really dark days.

The archer closed his eyes, imagining her at his side — sometimes if he sat like that for long enough, he could almost hear her voice, her laugh, he could almost feel her warmth, her touch — and it was like she was still there, sitting right beside him.

It wasn’t the same, but it was enough — at least until he could be with her once more.

Daryl opened his eyes, peering up at the vast night sky, and released the breath he’d been holding.

Someday, he’d find his way home again.

Fin.

A/N: ...hi...how y'all doin'? lol

So yeah, this is a lot to unpack. If you've made it to the very end, THANK YOU! I know this was a super-dee-duper-long oneshot but hopefully (heartbreak and all) it was worth it.

Most of this story was purely self-indulgent - I mean, come on, who doesn't want this kind of love? But aside from that, I also wanted to write a relationship for Daryl that felt authentic and true to his character (*cough cough* definitely not throwing shade at 10.18...nope...not at all...lol)

What also made this story super fun was the fact that I was able to incorporate other characters from over the course of the series! (Even though he's only in it for .2 seconds, Abraham is probably my personal favorite lol I'd never written for him before, and damn, is it fun!)

I also like the little 'twist' at the end when we realize that in the present parts of the story, he's been hanging out at the reader's grave the entire time, reminiscing. Ow, that hurts my heart.

After writing this for months, I was the last person who wanted to see the story end like this. I honestly grew super attached to this relationship and part of me contemplated ending it on more of a 'happy' note...or as 'happy' as you can get with a show like this one. But this was the ending I'd envisioned from the beginning. We got to experience a Daryl x Reader relationship from the very start to the very end. No open-ended questions, no 'what ifs'.

And I think that's sorta beautiful.

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[kissmetae]

Hope

❧ AU: x Taehyung || Friends to Lovers (Lowkey slow-burn)

You felt distressed, caught up in your own emotions and confused by your over-thought thoughts. Going through a rough patch as some would say, where everything felt hopeless and you found yourself scrolling pinterest till 1am looking for "angsty" core aesthetics to fit your new "vibe" of life. But it was easier said than done to dig yourself a hole when your best friend constantly stood by filling the hole back up as you dug in an attempt to stop you, help you and make you feel better, despite having his own issue to deal with... his crush on you.

|| ANGST + SMUT | 11k | x reader | masterlist in bio ||

❧ Disclaimer: This is fiction. Actions and events in these stories are often exaggerated and to a certain degree unrealistic.  Please have this in consideration when reading fiction, especially if it includes sexual content.

❧ Rating: EXPLICIT || sexual content, unprotected sex ||  Warnings: mention of feeling hopeless, "deep reflection", (reader is troubled by something going on in their life but it's open for interpretation/unspecified)

❧ Smut features: Vanilla, desperate, first time together, unprotected, reassuring/concent asking/'checking in' (is this ok? Does it feel good?) top!Tae and a power outage.

How do you know when you've reached the complete state of hopelessness? Do people ever become 100% hopeless? You inhaled deeply and sighed it out. Gaze to the white ceiling, back on the bed and legs up against the wall. The tingle in your feet from the lack of circulation made them look somewhat less alive and feel cold. With a tilt of the hips you allowed your legs to slowly fall to the side, forming a new pose in the shape of a 90 degree angle on the bed and allowing for the less zombie-ish color to return to your feet. Hopelessness. Feeling like there is no point yet still stubbornly aching in the inner crevice of the head with a wish for there to be a chance for something else. A change, a plot twist a sudden eureka to make the entire world loose it's zombie color pallet and become lively and vibrant again. Hope. Or a wish for hope. It's probably some basic programming, like survival instinct, hope instinct. But at this point you didn't want to believe. You wanted to be grumpy, upset, frustrated. To curse society and curse what isn't fair and curse all the norms and expectations around you regardless of who made them up! Curse the media, curse the mold for perfect and the lip filler ads, curse the restrictions planted by your own beliefs and curse the cause of said belief! But feeling frustrated and angry is hard. Not only is it exhausting but it's the hardest emotion to let out fully and feel satisfied by after. If anything anger and frustration feels like a self-fueling fire that keeps burning more and more until you get exhausted and slump down on the bed with your legs up the wall. Crying would've been easier. You sat up, feeling a brief spin in the head due to your advanced modelling poses and reached for your water bottle. Water, Zen, calm rivers, refreshment, sound of clucking water in the harbor... rain. You turned towards your bedroom window at the sudden raging pattering sound outside. Even the sky needed to cry today. You reached for your phone, having it be faced down for the past hour or so after giving up on ranting about your dilemma to your friend. You had two types of friends. Those who were there for you when convenient and those who were there for you regardless. Taehyung was one of them. 3 missed calls. 15 texts- make that 16. A sting of guilt washed through realizing he must've been worried sick the past hour. Too exhausted to use your vocal chords you opened the text chat. Taehyung was the definition personified of a caring person. Sometimes to the extent where you'd question if it was more than anyone deserved. Did the world deserve Taehyung? You didn't make it through the second text before your doorbell rang followed by a loud bang. It sounded urgent... You got up from bed and slipped your feet into your white fluffy slippers and made your way to the front door of your apartment. You unhooked the clasp and unlocked your door to see one of the rainstorm's victims dripping water onto your doormat. Taehyung, Dressed in a green raincoat and hair clinging to his forehead and temples. His chest was rising unnaturally with his attempts to regain his breathe. "Tae-" He stepped in, an arm wrapping around your side and the other pressing your head to his wet shoulder. "If you didn't make me so worried... I would've removed my raincoat before hugging you." He squeezed. "See this as my revenge." His heart was beating fast. He pulled back after a few seconds, breathing stable and his red hands reaching to unbutton his raincoat. Did he not wear gloves? He pulled the door shut behind him and gently kicked off his boots. Apparently not. "I'll... go hang your raincoat in the bathroom for it to dry" you said, taking it from him. He was quick to address the elephant. "Why didn't you reply to my texts?" He followed behind you. "I... I left my phone to charge and I got distracted..." you made up, hanging his raincoat up in the shower. "I didn't come here to scold you, but when you tell me you're feeling hopeless, you get that it makes me worried right?" His voice was gentle and he looked at you with concerned eyes, stood in the door to the bathroom. Actually.... you didn't. Why would anyone worry... everyone seemed to always take it as nihilistic comedy or something and swat it away with something along the lines of "you’re just hungry" or the classic "are you on your period?" Maybe you were or maybe you weren't but why would that matter? Just thinking about it made you feel annoyed. As if any deep emotion only was caused by a period, it's just a period, why would anyone, let alone someone with a period themselves ask someone else that in a way that minimizes the reason they feel upset or angry or whatever emot- "Hey?" Taehyung pulled you back out from inside your head. "I don't know..." He crossed his arms over his chest and you knew that look far too well. "We'll talk about it, but right now, I'm here to make it better and take care of you. Did you eat?" You shook your head. "Great! Because I stopped by at the shop on my way... before the rain attacked me and picked up some stuff, including~" he said with an eager tone and walked towards the grocery bag you hadn’t noticed until now. He picked it up and dug his hand in for something. "Du du du du" he sang dramatically and slowly pulled out the familiar dark blue packaging. The love of your life, the source of all things good. Chocolate. The good one! Not the weird orange wrapping one you hated, but the blue one, the holy blue one, your favorite one. "I remember your frustration when you saw the empty shelf of horror last week and it was restocked today so i picked up three just in case." "THREE?!" "Mhm!" He nodded proudly. You could cry, finally, but for other reasons. "TaeTae you're the best." You walked towards him, hugging him tight. He was the bestest of the best, the hero, the savior, chocolate delivery man. Oh what would life be without him. A blush spread across his cheeks. "You did it again." He said shyly "Hm? Did what?" "You called me TaeTae." "You don't like it?" "... I do." -- Taehyung had you stationed at the kitchen table while he cooked. With a focused gaze he scrolled on his phone, reading the next step for the recipe while stirring the pot. You were pretty sure he knew this recipe by heart now, he'd cooked it for you before and he should be confident in it but seemingly not enough yet to put the recipe down. The kitchen smelt amazing and you could feel your hunger cry out for whatever was simmering in the pot. Taehyung gently tapped the wooden spoon against the pot as he added another ingredient. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" He asked. That's where you'd left him hanging in your texts when exhaustion took over... "I just..." "Is it /that/ thing?" Taehyung asked, very much knowing of your source for distress already. "Kinda... but this time it feels different... I’m not nervous or eager, I just felt like I was waiting and waiting and what if I waited so long for nothing and I.... it doesn’t make sense but I just feel numb at this point and like I'm losing hope. Like every odd is set against me and I'm the only one dumb enough to still bet on myself." "And me. Except I'm not dumb, nor are you and I'll always bet on you. Always." Oh Taehyung... "Well, as your personal doctor and advisor and therapist and nurse, care-taker, comfort teddy and so on, I am going to prescribe you with some stuff." You chuckled. "Please go ahead." He placed a plate in front of you and another on the opposite end of the table. "Firstly, a good healing meal." "And you’ve already done everything in your power right now, you’ve been working hard. Maybetoohard." He mumbled under his breathe followed by a fake cough. "That said, let me distract you." "How?" "Well, some old school friends wanted to go out clubbing this weekend and-" "You don't like clubbing." "Hold on, let me get to the point. My suggestion is that you can come too, it won’t only be them. There will be the general club people too of course and I think most of them were bringing other friends or their girlfriends too so... it might be fun? If it sucks, we'll ditch and go to the midnight bowling place or noraebang, yes?" Maybe having some social interaction, an excuse to dress up and good music wasn't such a bad idea? The only thing bugging you was the potential mess there could be... and lately with your stressed mind you hadn't been the best at handling those environments, but after all this was just a club, with dancing people... it couldn't be that bad right? Bowling did sound fun too though... But you knew distraction and fun was what you probably needed. Maybe it wouldn't solve the issues but maybe it'd make it weigh less. The small distractions did a lot, a big one should do even more. "Sure." "Really?!" You could've sworn you just witnessed his ears wiggle from excitement. "I'll come." -- When Taehyung said "clubbing" you expected big flashy neon signs, a red rope and a guard and pulsing music coming from inside... not a giant base, a sax and a set-up of almost 4 different types of synthesizers. A jazz club. You should've known. The band was some sort of electro jazz fusion sprinkled with funk type band, as they introduced themselves as and they weren't bad, not at all. In fact this was a lot cozier than an uncomfortable packed nightclub. You just wish Taehyung told you so you could've worn your comfy flowy favorite dress rather than your tight little black one, wanting to fit in with the scene... Taehyung was dressed in black slacks, a green sweater and a brown coat that was hung over his chair, paired with his trademark assortment of bracelets on his wrist. Including the one you gave him for his birthday two years ago. He never took it off since the day he got it. It made you smile seeing it on his wrist. Taehyung's old school friends, the few you had managed to great during the evening were all really nice and most of them had their arm either around another or a hand held by another. You couldn't help but feel a little awkward, the questioning looks that didn't need to be vocal for you to understand. "Is this your girlfriend?" Taehyung just smiled, maybe playing it off was best... or did he just not notice the silent question? At first you expected a shrug or something but nope... "Would you like something more to drink?" Taehyung asked, leaning in so you'd hear him over the music and pointing towards your nearly empty glass. "I think I'm alright." "What?" "I'm ok." You leaned in closer. "Do you want to dance?" You and Taehyung were seated alone at one of the many tables as the majority were occupied dancing to the beats of the band and the rest drinking at other tables or mingling around. You had been up there at least twice, maybe even three times dancing the best you could and Taehyung always being by your side but your brain was starting to get a little drowsy. "I think I'm going to call it a night. But you can stay if you want." "No no, if you want to go home I'll come with you, let me walk you home." "I'll take a taxi its ok" "I insist." "So do I" the few drink he had had were enough to make his words braver and bolder. "It's late, I don't want you to go back alone regardless of if you take a taxi. I'll walk you." Fine. "Ok" Taehyung swept the remainder of his wine  and grabbed his coat and waved some quick goodbyes. It was cold outside. Dark and empty... maybe it was good Taehyung insisted after all. He stumbled slightly, alarming you. Your hands instinctively reached for him and he giggled. "You only had two glasses I doubt you're drunk right now." "Maybe I wiwwle tipdie" he giggled, clearly  acting up. "Does wiwwle tipdie Taehyung need help? Should I carry you on my back?" "No! I should be carrying you, do you have a blister on your heal from your shoes? Sore feet? Sore legs? Anything I can use as an excuse?" You laughed, patting him gently on the back. A cold breeze travelled through the street and you pulled your jacket tighter around you. "You're cold?" Taehyung asked "A little... my choice of dress wasn't the best." "I think you look beautiful." The sudden compliment caught you off guard. "... thanks." "Thanks? For what?" "The compliment" "I'm simply stating the facts." He said, looking to the side and slipping his hands into his pockets. "It sure is cold..." Why was it feeling awkward suddenly? Silence between the two of you would usually be comfortable... "Thanks for bringing me too." "Did you have fun?" He turned to face you again. "Yes, it was better than I expected." "I'm glad to hear that." "But let’s go bowling next time." "Sure!" He smiled widely. A source of warmth suddenly surrounded you and you looked up to see Taehyung's face turned away yet again but his arm resting around your shoulder, wrapping his coat around you and urging you closer into his side till your hips almost brushed against each other. The rest of the walk back home was a few minutes of silence, but luckily you didn't live far. "Home sweet home" "How will you get home?" You asked, concerned. "Ah..." he checked the time on his phone. "Well I've missed the last train... so unless I can find a taxi which so far I've seen none I'll have to sleep at the station." "No you're not, come, you can call a taxi from my place and at least wait inside instead of out in the cold." You said, grabbing his arm and pulling him with you through the entrance. "Nobody's picking up?" You asked Taehyung looked down at his phone with a confused look. "It keeps hanging up on me? I don't know if maybe their line is down or something?" "It would explain why we didn't see any on the walk back." "I guess so... so now what?" He looked up at you. "Guess you'll have to stay the night." He grinned. "Can't remember the last time we had a sleep-over" he chuckled and removed his coat. He was right, it must've been years ago... the last time you could remember was a movie night gone sleep over during winter when it had snowed so no traffic was able to move at all. You grabbed a spare cover and a pillow and handed it to Taehyung, sleepiness already present in his eyes. "Hey." Taehyung said, laying out the pillow and cover on your sofa. "If I have a nightmare can I come lay next to you?" He grinned. "If you have to." He replied with a puppy gaze. "Good night TaeTae." His eyes widened and he looked down at the couch. "... Good night." -- The question was when would you wake to the sound of birds chirping instead of the aggressive rasp of the snow plow dragging across the street? It almost sounded like it was more ir less plowing the asphalt off the earth rather than the snow. More irritating was that it just added to your unsatisfying sleep and rough awakening streak. One good morning was all you asked for... You sat up, slid off the edge of the bed and slipped into your slippers that were neatly set up by its side. A scratch of the head and an adjusting pull of the bun on your head and you headed to you first destination; tea. With heavy steps you dragged yourself out of your room and were met by the surprise you had forgotten was left on your couch from last night, sprawled across the sofa... in only boxers. Oh god. The covers were halfway on the floor, only covering his legs, barely. It was cold too but should you just ignore him... no, you couldn't... but what if you woke him up? He was only in boxers and you were already trying your best not to look but your brain had already registered that they were black and Calvins... please no more information... thigh muscles NO! Chest, focus on the chest. He was breathing, he was alive. Inhale, exhale. You carefully made your way towards him. His chest was toned... the type perfect to rest your head on NO! Messy hair... It really didn't help that your best friend was as attractive as he was. You bent down and carefully picked up the cover, pulling it back up over his upper body. He must've been really cold, his nipples- NO. You shook your head furiously to get rid of the thought. You turned around 180 degrees and marched to the kitchen. Tea. Tea. Tea. Tae. TEA! You could hear the covers rustle as he shifted, followed by a soft groan. Oh no... Please no. Although... why was it so dangerous for him to see you in your own home, making tea. I don't know! But regardless it felt like an action movie stealth scene for the grand heist judging by your heart beat. The boiler was too loud, the accidental clink of the mug as you set it to the counter too, the rip of packaging of the tea bag, the wind whistling outside! Sweat? You were sweating, stress consuming you yet again over the moist pointless little thi- "Hey?" The tea cup smashed against the kitchen floor along with your gasp and you grabbed the door handle of the kitchen cupboard for support. Taehyung starred at you with wide startled eyes. Maybe your screech scared him as much as his sudden presence scared you. "Sorry." He chuckled, voice so deep and raspy you could practically feel his vocal chords vibrate. Your heart was pounding hard. Could he at least have been swaddled in the covers and not in his boxers right now... You diverted your eyes to the porcelain shards across the floor. "Wait wait wait!" Taehyung yelped, holding his hand out to stop you from moving. But it was too late. The dark kitchen along with your giddiness had of course resulted in the unfortunate miss step. You sighed, lifting your foot from the chard as you felt something wet trickle down your foot. Taehyung quickly reached to turn the lights on, the bright shine blinding both of you briefly and making the view of him even clearer. "Stay there." Taehyung ordered. Your kitchen was pretty small so there wasn't much space to move without risking another wrong step. A cup of tea and now all this. You slapped your arms to your sides in a deep pout. Making a new cup now just felt wrong but you craved a cup so bad and it was cold... the floor was cold, you were cold... and not to mention everything hanging in form of heavy weights on your shoulders and chilling on top of the imaginary storm cloud above you right now. It's like your issues were mocking you and just making everything worse. Maybe the issue was that you related to the once-was intact mug. You felt split and unorganized, all over the place and dependent on things you knew you shouldn’t be depending your hope and happiness on but yet day after day you’d lose yourself in a visualization of a scenario of perfection were everything would be ok until again the door was slammed in your face and you had to start all over again. No matter how many times you felt like this time would be different and this time you were ready, this time it'd all go your way because the past was forgiven and your time wasn’t right but again and again .... Your patience was running out. You sniffed, wiping the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand. Taehyung came back holding a broom and a dust pan when he saw your face of tears. "No..." he sounded panicked. He leaned down quickly sweeping the chards to the side of the kitchen and tossing the broom and pan into the pile so he could approach you. Strong lean arms embarrassed you like out of a 6 different angles k-drama scene. A hand found its place on the back of your head, softly petting you as the other pressed you closer to his warm chest. Never had you expected  that hugging Taehyung would feel this safe. May it be because he was the one you could be truly vulnerable with or that he was the one that knew what was going on right now, but whatever he did... he did it just right. "You don't need to say anything." He whispered. "I know." He squeezed you a little firmer. "I know." He reassured. "Sssh" his hand felt so gentle as it caressed you. "It's going to be ok." He felt so warm. "I'm here." His skin felt so soft against your hands. "I'm not going anywhere." Your heart calmed down. Taehyung didn't pull away until you became silent and your breathing stable. But even then he didn't pull away completely, only enough to look at your face and caress his thumbs under each eye gently. "I'll reheat the water for you." He smiled softly and reached for the switch on the kettle. You didn't want to let go, not just yet. But he slipped away carefully and kneeled to sweep up the shards and discarded the pieces into the bin. He briefly disappeared and came back holding his sweater, arms slipped in and pulling it over his head as he entered, causing his shoulders to naturally flex slightly as he slipped it on. He grabbed two mugs from the cupboard, added a bag in each and filled them with the hot water. You tugged and fidgeted at your sleeve as you watched, feeling unusually shy in his presence. "Come, let’s sit on the sofa" Taehyung said and grabbed a mug in each hand but quickly came to a halt. "Your foot!" You had forgotten about it too. He placed the mugs back down and watched you as you lifted to check the cut. "Fuck." Taehyung said and quickly ripped a piece of kitchen towel off and handed it to you. Holding one hand against the fridge for support and the other wiping the smeared mess on your foot you watched as Taehyung quickly disappeared and reappeared again with your med kit. "Does it hurt?" He asked, rummaging through the kit. "No, it just stings a little." He pulled out some disinfectant solution and eyes you quickly up and down. Before you knew it he was stood in front of you, kneeling slightly as you felt his large hand grab a hold behind your thigh and his arm scooped you up on him. Your heart was back to its rapid pace again. He set you down on the sofa carefully and went back to grab the disinfectant and the tea mugs. He sat on the floor in front of you, soaking a cotton pad with the solution and gentle pulling your foot towards him by the ankle. "Ah, thanks goodness it doesn't seem to be deep." He said with relief, gently dabbing the cotton pad to the wound. It stung a little but it wasn't too bad. "All nice and clean, do you have cute band-aids?" "Only boring plain ones I'm afraid." Taehyung scrunched his nose. "Boo." With a band-aid beneath your foot and your longed for tea in your hands you sat next to him on the sofa. "An eventful morning." "I should become your fulltime caretaker at this point." Taehyung joked. "Not that I'd mind." "Will you pay me?" He raised his brows as well as the mug to his lips. "No way." You smiled. "Charity work is good for karma." "I already have good karma!" Taehyung protested, pretending to be offended. He laughed that trademark warm laugh that was like a smooth cackle that somehow always triggered a little firework to go off in your chest. You smiled, looking into your mug as if it'd tell you a fortune. ... you swallowed and looked up. In winter the sun rose late and had begun its voyage above the horizon, painting the sky a bright warm orange tone as it shined in through the window behind Taehyung. No. You didn't have feelings for him. You just felt some post-event shakiness and nerves and for the matter of a fact you finally got your much needed cry. It must just be your chest feeling lighter thanks to the cry. "So, do you have any planes today?" Taehyung asked. "I don't even know what day it is." "Good, I don't have plans either and it's Saturday for your information. But I do have a potential plan and that is, since I'm already here, to spend the day with you unless you have important to do's, which you shouldn't, because you need a break." He whispered towards the end. "A fmnn break." He repeated, biting his lip on the word to censor himself, but he got his point across. "A break would be nice... but when I try, I feel distressed as if I shouldn't be doing it because I'm wasting my time. I need-" "A distraction" Taehyung filled in. You nodded. "Then thou shall sit here and watch my live-in-action cooking show live from your kitchen." He said cheerfully, slapping his hands to his thighs as he stood up. "Do you have strawberries?" He asked. "In the freezer." "Yes!" He made his way to the kitchen, worth to mention is the open floor plan of your apartment so you could see him well enough from where you were seated. The soft messy curls on his head bounced with him as he walked. He dramatically pointed at you with a spatula in his hand. "Welcome." He said, speaking deeply into the spatula. "The pancake and strawberry smoothie extravaganza extraordinaire show with your host." He point his thumb and index under his chin. "Kim Taehyung." His goofiness never failed to bring a smile to your face. He went to grab his phone on the sofa table. "I need background music...." he hummed as he scrolled, spatula still in his other hand. "Jeopardy music 10 hours?" He looked up at you for an opinion. "Please no." He giggled and a calm upbeat song started playing from him phone as he put it back down and resorted to the kitchen. While frying up the first batch he was spaced out, humming on the theme tune to jeopardy anyway. You had made yourself comfortable on the sofa, lying down. The sofa smelt like him now. The same sweet comforting scent as the hug had... and his coat the numerous times he'd wrapped it around you when it was cold or shielded you from the rain with it. But speaking of memory, thinking back at those often occurring times you were also reminded about how a previous "friend" used to try and provoke you into being nervous and shy in Taehyung's presence. You'd been close for years and maybe she had an issue with that or something but she'd always find ways to tease you in way. Claiming Taehyung was giving you "looks" or "checking you out" in ways she as a self-declared expert in men deemed were of more than friendly nature. And since she as expert of men by that likely thought all men were the same, proves how reliable of a source she was. Taehyung he just.... you were close. She just wanted to make you feel embarrassed and self-conscious and make it awkward between you. You hated thinking about that. It made you overthink and feel awkward. Like an evil loop. You looked up at the breakfast chef, catching his eye as he quickly looked back down to the pancakes. You could get used to this view. Handsome man in boxers and sweater making you pancakes when you’re feeling blue, the headline in your head spelled out. The Zen experience of the kitchen fan being turned off brought stillness and Taehyung emerges with a plate of pancakes, disappearing and re-appearing again after denying your offer to help with the strawberry smoothies, plates, forks, knifes and every suitable pancake topping he had been able to locate in your kitchen. And a tube of mustard as a joke that you only kept in your fridge for when your dad came over to dinner and his weird obsession with having mustard on everything. It was probably even expired. "Enjoy your meal." "You're my hero Taehyung." You said, stabbing a pancake. "I can be your hero baby." You froze. "What?" "Haven't you heard that song?" He smiled. Oh.. "Hero? By Enrique Iglesias?" "Ah, now that you mention it-" "With the weird music video were goes on this road trip with the girl and then he's suddenly rubbing money over her body in this random stone house." "Is this what you binge on youtube at 2am when I wake up to 15 links and emotional texts." "Do not judge me!" You giggled. "I'm not, I like waking up to those texts from you. You sent them to me for a reason." Taehyung smiled shyly. "Yeah... anyhow! I have a suggestion, a proposal, a-" "Go on" "Since I'm your hero, but even I weren't. I thought maybe I could stay here a few days? Only if you want me to, of course. I just-" he became shyer. "I like to think that you seem to feel better when I'm around and you're going through a rough time so I'd like to be there for you, like you are for me." Your heart made its presence in your chest known yet again. "You should think.... because it's true." "So?" "It'd be nice." He smiled widely. "Great! But I do need to go home and pack some clothes and... some pajamas and Yeontan! He is a great comforter trust me, he has cheered me up many times when I've cried." "Cried? What were you crying about?" "Oh- uhm it's nothing, it's ok now so." He swatted it away. "Boys cry too." He joked, but it tasted weird. "But he's staying with my parents this weekend, but if you want I can go pick him up." He suggested. "It's ok, he needs time with his grandparent." Taehyung chuckled. "Well they love their grandson so I'm sure they wouldn't mind having him stay an extra day or two." -- You couldn't help but feel bad that Taehyung had to sleep on the sofa... His bag with clothes and necessities was placed in the hallway and the covers neatly hung over the backrest. "We could take turns and sleep in the bed every other day." "I told you it was fine." Taehyung insisted, again. "I just feel bad..." "Then let’s both sleep in your bed and call it even." "...." your cheeks felt hot. "See, so I'll sleep on the sofa. Don't worry about it!" What does he mean "see"? ... you were simply imagining what excuse to use as to how your head would coincidentally end up on his chest instead of your pillow. "Or we'll both sleep on the sofa, but it might be a bit cramped." He continued. "Maybe this was a bad idea..." "Hey no! No, I'm just joking. Don't feel bad ok." Taehyung's hands smoothed down your arms. "Beds are better at healing wounds on the feet too." You exhaled deeply. "Oh TaeTae..." "Doesn't this feel like we're having a pajama party or sleep over?" He smiled. "Kinda, should we build a blanket fort and watch movies?" His mouth dropped open. "I'm just kidding!" You laughed He pouted. "Oh you want to?" A nod. "You want to build a fort and watch movies?" You asked with more excitement. More enthusiastic nodding. You both cracked up laughing on the sofa together. "I'm serious though." Taehyung grinned. -- You lied awake in your bed, eyes to the ceiling. For some wild reason you both thought it would be a great idea to binge through the entire twilight saga series as a source of comedy but you only made it up to half-way through eclipse when it became too much to handle for both of you. The first movie was easy to mock and laugh at and make fun out if but once it got more serious and romantic in new moon it started getting a little awkward. To say the least, feeling flustered from watching twilight but not due to the movie itself but from the presence of Taehyung right next to you in your make-shift sofa blanket fort. You couldn't stop thinking about him. And he was out there... on your sofa, right now. And who knew if he was in cute polka dot pajamas with his hair a mess on the pillow or his tight fitted boxers and his hair tied up.. You bit your lip, crossing your legs at the visual. You remembered the first time you witnessed Taehyung tie his hair up and how it felt like being punched in the gut. It's not possible to be that attractive. "Then aren't you attracted to him?" The voice echoed in your head. Just because you find someone attractive doesn't mean you're attracted to them! Which is very much true. But Taehyung's personality was attractive too which was harder to justify the same way. And his person. And him. The entire package. You sighed. Maybe the stupidest thing you could do right now was reach for your phone and google "do I have feelings for my best friend?" Ah yes. A quiz. Maybe it wasn't so stupid after all, it'd say maybe you like him but you're not into him at the very most. Question 1, do you find them attractive. Well who wouldn't? And like mentioned it doesn't mean you're attracted to him. Yes. Question 2, do they like you? Pfft... what kind of question is that? How would you know? I don't know... or yes I guess? I mean he clearly likes you as a friend or he wouldn't be up to making all this effort for you but do they mean platonically? You ticked maybe. Question 3, Do you stalk them on social media? What the??? He's your best friend! The algorhythm shoves his posts in your face weather you like it or not. Sometimes. Question 4, Do you see them a lot? Yes. Question 5, Do you want to know more about them? You already know everything ... but what he cries about to Yeontan is something. Yes. Question 6, when you see them with somebody else who isn't considered their friend, how do you feel? Jealous. Question 7, when they're around you how do you feel? Nervous or self-conscious or nothing or i don’t know... well nervous AND a little self-conscious depending on the situation and if he's dressed or in just his boxers. Nervous. Question 8, Do you think about them? Yes. Always. Question 9, Do you laugh at their jokes? Another weird one but yes. Question 10, are they your ex? Huh? No. Definitely. A lot. You placed your phone screen down on your chest and let out a sigh. Maybe visualizing a kiss or two while in the shower was a crime after all... or was the question why were you in the first place? He was amazing in every type of way and you wanted to know if he was amazing at kissing too andmaybeinbed but you can't just ask him that or try it out, so you had to resort to imagination.... Who were you even trying to convince at this point? You liked him. Definitely. And a lot. The realization did nothing to help you fall asleep unfortunately. Another 15 minutes in dark silence passed when you suddenly heard the floorboards squeak. Maybe Taehyung was going to the bathroom or grabbing a glass of water... But the soft pats of his feet should've stopped by now... Your half open door pushed open a bit more shyly and Taehyung peaked in. Dressed in pajama bottoms, but no shirt. "You're awake." He said, whispering. "So are you." "I can't sleep..." he rubbed his arm. "I feel lonely." As if you'd deny him looking all shy and vulnerable in your door. You scooted to the side in your bed, making raise his brows in hope and anticipation, fingers fidgeting. "Come." You said, patting the bed next to you. The bed dipped gently as he lied down and you put the covers over him. He shifted onto his side, placing his head on your pillow. This was better. But since you just took an online quiz to realize you had feelings for this man currently shirtless in your bed, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly awkward. "How come you're feeling lonely?" You asked, trying to conceal your stiffness "To a start I sleep better when I get to hold something." He said shyly "Who?" You asked, intending for it to be a thought. "When I'm at home, Yeontan." Of course... "He lays on the bed and I feel less lonely and hearing him walk around or do something makes me feel soothed knowing I'm not alone... for the most part." "Are the tears you cry... tears of loneliness?" You could tell it triggered something in him. He bit his lip and nodded gently, eyes glossy. "For the most part it's just me and a pillow." He confessed. "But you could say-... it's something like that, yes." Face to face, mere inches apart. You thanked the darkness of the room that he couldn't see you blush right now but unreasonable fear that he'd somehow "sense" it in the atmosphere still worried you. You shouldn't have taken that stupid quiz it only made you start overthinking and it was probably rigged and the questions were weird so why should you listen to it? Get back to your senses! He's your best friend and you're comfortable with him! Calm down! "... I know it's dumb" Taehyung mumbled. "I know it seems like I'm this easy-going social butterfly with lots of friends who can find someone to hang out with within seconds... but when I'm alone at home, I just feel so empty. Like if nobody sees me, I don't exist. Thus when I'm alone, I'm not real anymore." "That's very philosophical, but what if someone thinks about you while you are alone? Then wouldn't you exist since somebody has you on their mind?" "But it'd be impossible for me to know and people have better things to do than walk around and daydream about me." It stung a little inside hearing him say this. "People are actually capable of multitasking you see, they can do these better things you speak of and think about you at the same time. I think about you a lot, sometimes I think about you while doing the laundry, riding the bus or taking a show- that sound's wrong." Taehyung chuckled. "But you get what I mean." "What do you mean?" He asked "That I think about you and that you aren't alone TaeTae, you never are. If you're ever feeling lonely, maybe think about me. If that helps. Or get to know yourself more, become your own friend or create an imaginary friend!" "I already do that." "Have an imaginary friend?" "Think about you." Oh. "... does it help?" You asked shyly. He shook his head. "It just makes me miss you and want to come to see you." Is it possible to experience a softer heart attack than you just did? Rather than a heart exploding in saw gore-level mess it gently poofed and became a small cloud of red feathers gently falling to the ground. Since when had you become a softie? Two hours ago you were all if there's no sex in the romance novel, it's not worth my time but now you suddenly felt an urge to ransack the romance section of the nearest library to read every cheesy romance story you could find until you could find one similar to your own. Your... own? What? With... with Taehyung? ... not that you’d visualize every male lead character as coincidentally similar to him regardless of how their looks were described in the book.... "Maybe I do need to spend some time with myself to get over it..." No! Stay here with me! "I can spend more time with you." Taehyung looked up. "I think that could benefit us both." He sounded more hopeful now. "Well, you're already here so it's also convenient." Despite the darkness you could make out the smile on his face that appeared. Cute. But wait... did Taehyung suggest he could stay here for you, because he felt lonely? He shifted slightly and the sheets rustled. His leg accidently brushed against yours and your first thought was to tangle your legs with his in a leg tackle war... but you still felt too on edge to act casual and playful with him like you normally could. You swallowed. "How long have you felt this way?" "A while... a long while. At first it was nothing but then it got worse and even more worse when I realized this one thing." "What thing was that if I may ask?" He sighed. "It's hard to explain... but, say a friend." "Mhm?" "A friend feels kinda lost, existentialism and stuff going on, doesn't like to be by himself, then he finds this person and they make him forget it all but once they’re apart it all returns to him again like they were his escape but only for as long as they were together." "Is that only with that one person or all?" "No no, only that person. And then he realizes he might be in love, or he's addicted to the person in a way, but in a good way not an obsessive way just-" "In love?" "Something like that." "You're in love?" "Huh?! What no! This was about a friend! I'm not talking about me!" "Then what did you realize Taehyung?" You could tell his mind briefly blanked in panic. "I realized that maybe I, as said friend need to find that person for me." "A person?" He nodded shyly. "You want to fall in love?" "I don't know... something like that." 'Something like that' seemed to be his catchphrase this evening. But in love? A person? His person?... that couldn't be you... could it? Did he want you to be his person? Were you his person?? The questions and confusion kept spiraling through your head, (finally) making you feel tired and exhausted. "I think... I just want to tend to someone else than myself, to not have to think so much about it and instead take care of somebody else." "Is that why you offered to stay?" "Yes and no, I want to take care of you because I am genuinely concerned and worried about you, I want to be there for you. But also, sleeping on the couch last night, hearing you tiptoe around the kitchen... it made me feel comforted." His voice sounded drowsy. "If you want... I can be your person in this scenario." You suggested. "You've already become.. person." He mumbled, sinking deeper into his half-awake state. -- You stretched your leg out one at the time, twisting your body gently and inhaling deeply into a stretch, gently batting your eyes open. You pushed a palm against the bed to get up into a seated position when something suddenly restrained you, heavy over your abdomen. Surprised, you raised the sheet to see the reminder of what you had forgotten last night. Over your waist, a lean arm with faint thin dark hairs and a few subtle veins travelling up the forearm from the large hand clung to the side of your waist... all attached to the source of warmth to your left, Taehyung. His dark locks a mess on the pillow, his bare upper body now fully on display in the daylight and his polka dot pajama pants haven travelled down a bit too far low for your sanity... Cursed be the eyes in your skull for travelling down the view. You would've noticed it sooner or later regardless, especially since your thigh was  a hair between touching it. It, being the weird relief of knowing he got some deep relaxing sleep in... but with an awkward morning surprise... and his arm wouldn't grant you freedom without you accidentally or intentionally having to wake him up. You carefully shifted to at least have your thighs at a safer distance, but your bed wasn't intended for two people, so it was easier said than done. His grip suddenly tightened and a low groan escaped him as he shifted. Why did you feel fear as if you shouldn’t be present in your bed in which he entered himself. If anyone Taehyung should be the one fearing his life right now. His thumb caressed your side gently and it felt nice... soothing. Until his eyes suddenly opened wide with a soft gasp as you felt his morning hard on grace against your thigh. Eyes that pleaded and begged you didn't notice pierced into yours and you decided to play along. "Did you sleep well?" His hand quickly retreated to your disappointment. "Sorry i... I did it in my sleep it wasn't-" "It's ok, you said you sleep well holding something and being held didn't feel too bad..." "Well, in that case, I actually slept better than I have in a really long time." He said, voice raspy and deep still. He rolled onto his back, thankfully, and placed his hand behind his head. "Did you?" "Huh?" "Did you sleep well?" "In fact, I did." You said, answering truthfully and resisting the urge to put your head on his bare chest. If only the lord or whoever would stop testing me... "Hungry?" He asked. You nodded. "Great, I'll fix something ok, but close your eyes." "Why?" "I'm shirtless." ... right. You covered your eyes with your hands and the warmth left your side as he got up and escaped the room. You slowly got up, trying to win some time for him but a few brief seconds later heard the sound of the bathroom door down the hall closing and locking. Yikes. That went smoother than expected. You set up some tea, knowing Taehyung described coffee as the closest to unlethal poison you could find, you knew he'd prefer tea or hot chocolate and that there was no use to ask. You knew him too well. It was nice having him here. And waking up with a strong arm around your waist wasn't too bad either... if only you could've let yourself enjoy the moment instead of freaking out, what if he grew cautious now and you'd never experience it again? You sighed softly, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard. After a while, the kettle clicked and you poured some water into each mug. It had been a while now... ... was he meditating in there? There was no sound of the shower, or anything, not that you were listening. Would it be weird if you asked if he was ok? Since the kettle was off the entire apartment became significantly more silent. You heard a faint mumble. "Fuck..." You swallowed. Ear please momentarily turn off, mind and imagination too please. You reached to put the kettle back on but since the water was already hot it clicked off again after 5 seconds. The bathroom door opened and you braced yourself to not look down. Luckily, he was now wearing his oversized sweater or else you would've failed immediately. He let out a soft chuckle. "I spaced out." His cheeks were flushed red and glowing. Right. "I made you some tea." -- Why were deep topics always easier to talk about at night? Were people like clams? You wake up and it opens a little and once we hit the night the clam is fully open and then closes during sleep to a new no-talk-me-I-not-have-tea-yet to ask-me-about-how-i-view-existentialism cycle? Or were nights just vulnerable with the darkness? In that case you should metaphorically speaking be an open clam all day during winter when the sun goes into its own hibernation. But here you were again, just like last night, except... 20 minutes into the sudden power outage that made your impromptu movie night come to a halt. And it was getting really cold. Bundled up under a cover together, staring at the flicker of the candle on the coffee table in silence. "I was going to offer to make you tea to warm you up but the kettle..." Taehyung said with a soft chuckle. "The power will probably come back any moment soon." He said optimistically. As you looked out of the window earlier, you noticed it wasn't just your place, but the entire block seemed to have an outage. Unusual. But the current roaring rain storm outside likely had something to do with it. The wind was aggressive, the windows shook, it whistled in a creepy way and the trees outside rustled loudly. "How about we play a game?" Taehyung suddenly suggested, breaking off the silence again. He was feeling awkward, you could tell. He always rested his hands in his lap, fidgeting or poking at the cuticles of his nails when he felt awkward. "Sure, what should we play?" His face lit up. "Questions and answers? I can start!" "Shoot!" You folded your legs and shifted to face him on the couch. "What's your ideal type." ... he... immediately went there. "Looks or personality?" Taehyung shrugged. "Both." "Well it depends on the vibe they give off of course... and mainly. I guess tall, but it's not that important, wide shoulders are always nice." You paused to think, how can I describe Taehyung without it sounding like I'm describing Taehyung. "Funny, caring, optimistic, outgoing..." "Like me!" He smiled widely. You leaned back, squinting while caressing your chin, examining him playfully. "Hmmmn" He placed his hands under his jaw, like he was displaying his face and batted his eyelashes. "Not bad, not bad." He looked disappointed. "Just not bad?" You playfully nudged his arm. "It's your turn to answer. "Fine." He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest but cracking a giggle. "I'll ask you the same question." "Very original, you." "It's called recycling, so tell me." "I did." "Huh?" "You." Your heart froze briefly before beginning to pound. "Me?" "Mn!" He said confidently. "You're not bad" he mocked. You swallowed. "I have a question about the rules." "Go on" "If I ask you anything, do you have to tell the truth?" "Yes! Nothing but. So you better tell me what you actually think rather than 'not bad'" "Is the friend you talked about actually you? And am I the person?" He tensed up, swallowing. "I guess it was obvious..." he mumbled, rubbing his arm and looking down at his lap. "I just..." he began, but reluctance interrupted him. "I understand." You said. He looked up, seemingly surprised yet still tensed "I make you feel less lonely." He nodded slowly. "Which makes sense. After all we're best friends." You continued. "... right." He looked away. "Best friends." Taehyung reached up to move his hair away from his eyes, still facing down as if he was considering something. "So... what do you think of me?" His voice sounded more serious. Where to start of course he was gorgeous! Wide shoulders, a build you'd die to slide your hands down, dark big eyes, a sweet smile with plump lips, sculpted perfectly and his honey skin. Person wise... he was someone you'd want to have as your person. "A nice person" He scoffed. "Seriously?" He seemed upset. He finally looked up, meeting your gaze. There was a sparkle in his eye. The warm light from the candle made his face glow even more. "I mean person as in the person you have, a your-person" "A nice your-person?" He tilted his head. "You told me yesterday in bed that you can feel like someone is your person because they bring you comfort and make all your problems go away and you feel better just by being in their presence! A nice that-type-of-person." "But I was talking about you!" He pleaded "And now I'm talking about you." "You are my person, what do you mean?" He asked, placing emphasis on "my" "That you're my person too. Am I being unclear?" "No, not at all. I just wanted to hear you say it." "So you tricked me?" You scoffed. "Not really." He leaned closer. "But maybe I set you up and you simply walked into my trap." "So now what? We're just going to sit here in denial over the fact that we both admitted to being each other's person?" You questioned, feeling slightly panicky and picking at your nails. Was this platonic or not? "We don't have to" he grinned. "But to be clear, I'm not talking about you being my person as in my other half, my best friend type person, even though you are that too bit this isn't it." "Are you trying to tell me that you're in love with me?" He tensed up again. Fuck it. "Then just say it, stop confusing me with your riddles and metaphors and I won't do the same. Just tell me-" His hand pressed against the back of your head as he leaned in almost all the way. He caressed the back of your head gently and your gaze dropped to his soft pink lips with the tiny freckle to the side. You leaned in close enough to brush a gentle touch before Taehyung pressed you closer for your lips to finally collide. It started off desperate yet a little shy. You pressed back, grabbing at his sides and the kiss deepened. Your heart was pounding. Never did you expect he'd just go for it and kiss you when you showed some bold courage towards him but you didn’t have a slightest regret because he tasted so good against your mouth. His plump pink lips so passionate, so needy but also so gentle and triggering an explosion in your chest. Taehyung leaned over you, making you lay down on the couch as he crawled on top and it turned into an even wilder heated make out. Your hand tangled into his hair, his hand rubbed against the side of your waist under your top. Fearing it'd be the first, last and only, you wanted every single piece of this moment you could have. Unintentional, his touch triggered a soft moan to escape your throat, which subsequently triggered a groan from Taehyung. Making a sound like that with his voice should be illegal. It did things to you, things you didn't want to confess. But the box of secret confessions was torn open within seconds as Taehyung, a heavy breathing mess suddenly pulled away from your lips and landed by your ear, exhaling deeply. "Fuck, I'm hard." He groaned and you knew the box was flying out the windows with your filthy confession floating aimlessly around for him to hear but all you managed to stutter out was a choked "huh?" "If you knew how long I've wanted you for." He whispered. "How scared I've been of being rejected because I knew it'd shatter me." The hopeless romantic you knew he was made his attendance known. "A friend?" You chuckled. "Maybe I set myself up with that one, I admit. But I was hoping you'd catch on." He chuckled, still breathless. He planted a kiss against your neck. Were you about to have sex? Would it lead to that? Did you mind? Certainly not... Taehyung pushed up slightly, looking down at you. "May I?" You nodded and he smiled widely, pressing a kiss to your lips. Shifting, he easily found his place between your thighs and grinded up against you slowly with pressure, causing both of you to exhale into a sweet needy moan. Your feelings felt scattered all over the place but this wasn't the time to pick them up. You wanted to let go, to surrender, just for this moment. Let go of everything clawing at your back, clouding the sunny skies and draining you. There is nothing more exhausting than smiling pretending everything is ok while whatever inflated issue in beast form is clawing its nails across your back and the scars sting like lemon juice was just rubbed all over you, feeling disgusting and sticky, let alone in pain and with a sore back from the held tension. He grinded again, sensually this time as the tip of his nose travelled up your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. "Mmm" he hummed softly. Your hand made its way to his nape as he settled by your neck. "I could fall asleep here." He chuckled. "Right here in your neck, it's so warm and smells so nice. It's more effective than lavender." "Are you enchanted by my odor?" He laughed his trademark bubble laugh. "I wish you knew how much fun you are." He squeezed you, rubbing up firmer to you with a desperate grunt. "Fuck I can't take it anymore." He stood on his knees, crossing his arms in front of him and grabbing the hem of his sweater, pulling it up and off, exposing his soft skin and toned chest as it fell to the floor. His hand reached for the button on his pants but before making it to the zipper his attention returned back to you with his hands sliding up under your top and pulling it up over your head. "I just want to make sure again... is it ok?" He asked, eyes big. "Yes, touch me, kiss me, do whatever you want just don’t leave the couch. At least not without me." He smirked at this, finally able to surrender to his greed. Taehyung reached for the waistline of your pants, unbuttoning, unzipping and pulling them down your hips with your underwear going off with them. His fingers softly rakes over your skin as he travelled down your legs, your hips lifted to assist him and then they were tossed onto the floor. He reached for his own zipper again but you sat up, quickly swatting his hand away and reaching for it yourself. He was on his knees between your thighs. You pulled them down, sliding your hands over his soft curved hips, revealing his tight fitted boxers with little to any space left for his hard on. You swallowed. He blushed. Relieved that Taehyung took over the lead again you lied back down as his hands gently pushed you back, slipping the bra straps off your shoulders and reaching behind you to unhook and free you from your final piece of clothing. But with this one he wasn't in a rush. He slowly tugged at the lacey fabric, revealing your chest to him as he bit his lip. "Wow." He mumbled and his patience was gone. One hand grabbed your left boob, feeling it and squeezing it softly as the other slipped into his boxer to touch himself. He whimpered, seemingly trembling as a result of his desperation and the discomfort he must be feeling in those tight pair of... he let go of your boob, quickly pulling his boxers down and himself out. You felt your core twist and ache and his boxers joined the pile of clothes on the floor. Taehyung fell forward onto all fours on top of you. Fully exposed, fully erect and a full sight to take in in the dim light in the dark. Distracted and eyes travelling all over him, his hand suddenly cupped your chin, tilting it up for you to face him. His nose graced over yours in a sweet eskimo kiss before his lips, just as gently pressed to yours. Taehyung's hand slid down your neck, your chest and down until he found himself. Your toes curled as you felt his touch where you wanted him the most in this moment, the tip of him slowly sliding up and down your slit, triggering your need even more. Taehyung let out a shaky exhale. His lips were parted and eyes staring right down at your exposed curves. He positioned himself, slowly sliding the tip in, just to feel... just to get some urgent relief... he leaned his head back and his hands landed a tight grip of your waist. He couldn't take it anymore. Slowly and carefully he began to push. Making sure by studying your every expression that he wasn't hurting you and that it felt good. A sweet whimper escaped you, causing him to grin in delight as he pushed in deeper. He was thick... the gentle stretch he caused felt amazing and you couldn't stop yourself from clenching around him, making him moan and managing to make you even wetter just by the sound. With a soft grunt he slipped in all the way. Giving you a moment to adjust to his size, he moved his hand up to caress your cheek with the back of his hand. His touch felt like magic. Like a gentle feather smoothing over your cheek, but slender and strong, with long dainty beautiful fingers. You leaned into his touch. "Does it feel ok?" He whispered. You gave a reassuring nod. He pulled his hips back and thrusted back in, not too soft and not too hard he picked up a slow but deep rhythm for his movements. Your hands felt their way up and across his back, studying every curve and where he naturally flexed as he moved. His hands were firmly holding you in place at the waist, every desperate exhale and every shaky inhale sending almost an ASMR like tingle down your spine via your ear until your name suddenly slipped his lips. Most people feel a fuzzy like feeling inside hearing their proper name be called but this... this was unlike no other time. His deep voice, following a whimper, exhaling your name like a magic spell and it fading into a shiver-causing moan. To put it simply it was the sexiest thing you've ever heard and it activated a whole new part within you that felt foreign but so so so good. Like your blood had suddenly turned into liquid gold, all happy hormones releasing in a firework spelling the world "nothing else matters" in an imaginary sky. You wrapped your arms tighter around him, moaning his name out felt liberating. And it clearly triggered an equal reaction. His cheeks were already flushed and his eyes went wide. He smirked, growing more desperate, fucking your harder and deeper, chasing release. "Please cum for me." He whispered, pleading. "Please." He didn't need to place a formal request, you were already loosing yourself. The only sound echoing in the darkness being the roaring wind and rain along with your breaths and groans and the sound of his hips and your thighs. Wet, heavenly sounds to you. His sweet moans, his broad back, his dick... everything about him made you feel euphoric. The ever building tension below, the sweat forming on his forehead... "I'm gonna cum" he whimpered. Thinking your body couldn't possibly react stronger to him than it already was, it did. The thrusts grew faster, grunts louder and you could feel yourself leak even more. Back arching, tension growing... it felt even tighter now... you could feel him so well, every movement until you suddenly came un-done with a loud whimper to his ear, setting him off into his own orgasm, cumming deep inside with a string of "oh"s and groans, gritting his teeth together and tensing his face in a greedy expression. He slowed down to a halt, remaining inside, breathless on top of you. The light on the sofa table had reached its end and the faint scent of smoke filled the air as the flame went out, making the room completely pitch black. Taehyung's face nuzzled softly against your neck, inhaling the scent of you deeply  and being soothed. "Wow." He coughed, followed by a groan. "Wow." You repeated, happy that the light went out so he couldn’t see your flushed face. "You ok?" He whispered, vulnerability present in his voice. "I didn't go to hard right?" "It was amazing." He let out a breath of release and an awkward chuckle. "I'll pull out.." he said shyly, moving his hips back slowly and gently, slipping out. To your surprise, Taehyung climbed off of you, standing on his feet. The cold air made your nipples ache and your skin shiver. You wanted your human blanket and source of heat back. But you didn’t have to wait for long. A pair of strong arms slid in under you, lifting you up with ease. "The sofa is too tiny." He carried you into your bedroom, gently putting you back down on the bed and laying down on his side next to you, pulling you close to his chest where his heart was still pounding hard. He hugged you tight, caressing the back of your head. His lips pressed against the crown of your head gently. "My good girl." He whispered, sounding almost proud. Your cheeks burned and a weird sense to cry bubbled up but you quickly swallowed it and hugged him tighter, burying your face against his chest. Never had you thought being called a good girl, specifically "Taehyung's" good girl would be able to move you to tears. But maybe it's what you needed to hear, mixed with the hormonal serotonin cocktail your body just released upon you. "You'll always have me." He nuzzled his nose in your hair. With a click the power came back on, including your pink hue nightstand lamp next to the bed. Taehyung's cheeks were deeply flushed, amplified by the flattering pink light cast over him. You giggled.   Had this really just happened? Because it felt so right. Or was it just the relief of sex? But masturbating had never made you feel this emotional before... You looked up at Taehyung's face again and he smiled softly, his hand caressing your bare back up and down. It was definitely him.

[gojos-sidepiece-69]

Bedtime Stories- Nanami x Reader Oneshot

Word Count: 3108 words

Prompt: “Now I just know this man would ask you to keep reading out loud while he quietly gave you head under the bedsheets.”

It was a relatively quiet day for you. Being a semi-grade 1 sorcerer and a teacher at Jujutsu Tech proved to have its rough patches; however, today was not one of those days. You were seated in the teacher's lounge, going over a lesson plan that you had prepared days earlier for the students when Gojo strolled into the small room. "I see you have plenty of time on your hands today, y/n," he smirked.

You rolled your eyes at him. "Ijichi didn't have any cases for me today, and the first years were supposed to be training with you, so I have a free day," you muttered. Suddenly you felt the urge to leave the room. You and Gojo have always irritated each other. However, Satoru had a little personal game to annoy the hell out of you with every chance he got.

As you looked away from his blindfolded eyes, you could practically feel his pathetic little smirk plastered on his lips. You tried to mind your business by reading a book that Nanami had lent you. No matter how much you tried, you could feel Satoru's eyes burning holes onto the back of your head in the uncomfortable silence. You cleared your throat and sharply turned your head to the looming buffoon. "I'm sorry. Is there something you need, Satoru?" You asked sweetly.

"Am I bothering you? I can leave… but now that you mention it, I think a cup of coffee sounds extraordinarily great right now," he grinned. He lazily walked over to the counter and loudly clinked a cup on the smooth surface. You gritted your teeth and focused your attention on the book about expelling special-grade curses.

After a few minutes of Gojo loudly bustling around the room, you roughly shot up out of your chair and swiftly exited the room. "Have a great rest of your day!" Gojo yelled over his shoulder. "Piss off," you muttered as you walked down the hallway. You knew he would hear you even as you walked down the hall, and as if on queue, you listened to his laugh echo the room.

As you made your way to the teacher's headquarters, you stopped to sit down at a nearby resting area. You exhaled a sigh of relief at the sense of peace and quiet that you had finally attained. You closed your eyes and breathed in the sweet summer air flowing around you. At times like these, you wished you were sitting in a comfortable home with no one to worry about except yourself.

Alas, that was not your current situation. Your students were your priority, and they felt almost like family; therefore, you were always nervous about them, mainly when it was Gojo's time to train them. Your mind began to wander, and you noticed the slight texture of your book in your hands. You lightly dragged your fingertips across the leathered book cover.

You and Nanami were reasonably close and more so as the summer days passed by. At this point, you considered each other as friends with benefits, although you both knew you were lying to yourselves. The sex was phenomenal, but you've always wanted something more than the title of 'just friends who fucked each other from time to time.'

Nobody was currently aware of the relationship that you two had. However, Gojo had his suspicions from time to time, making lewd comments when you and Nanami were near each other. You opened your eyes and shook your head to clear your thoughts. Enough fantasizing, you scolded yourself.

You walked silently to your bedroom, admiring the beautiful oranges and purples that began to blend into the evening sky. You slid open the doors to your room and quickly padded over to your large window. You carefully set Nanami's book onto your bedside table. Being a teacher here at Jujutsu Tech did have its benefits, as it had a great view of the city, you thought. You strolled around your room aimlessly before landing in the bathroom.

You disrobed your issued teacher's uniform and dressed into something much more comfortable, which consisted of a shirt three sizes too big for you and grey sweatpants- it was definitely a sweatpants kind of day for you. You jumped onto your bed and huffed as a wave of exhaustion suddenly overcame you. I need to get a grip on myself; I didn't even do anything today, you thought.

You tucked yourself into bed at 8:00 pm, book in hand. It was still early, yes, but there was nothing to do besides reading and lounge in the teacher's room, which was something you were not going to do again. As your eyes danced across the pages of the old book, you heard a slight knock echo into your room.

Your eyes scrunched in confusion. You hadn't expected any visitors tonight. As you opened the door, you looked up to see an even more exhausted Nanami.

A wave of surprise coursed through your body and heat began to pool between your legs. Were you going to have sex again? You wondered. Nanami looked down on you and cleared his throat. "Can I stay here for a bit? I'd rather not deal with reporting the exorcised curse to Satoru right now," he sighed.

You tried to hide your embarrassing disappointment by walking back into your bed." Sure go ahead, stay as long as you'd like." As he entered your room, he walked straight over to a small couch seated by the window.

You shifted uncomfortably in your bed and resumed reading. Like your earlier experience with Gojo, you could not focus on a single word when Nanami was so close to you (with supremely different emotions stirring up inside you).

Nevertheless, you stared at the textured pages, now studying a picture of the general makeup of a curse. You had finally gotten comfortable with Nanami in the same room as you when you heard his chair screech on the wooden floor.

Your eyes shot up to his. However, he paid no attention to you as he quietly sat down on your side of the bed. You shut your book and looked up at him with lustful eyes. You were hungry for him.

At this point, the sexual tension was practically drowning you two in the bedroom. "I…" Nanami began, but your colliding bodies soon cut it off.

You had had enough, you pulled Nanami into a passionate kiss, and a small moan escaped your lips. Nanami did not hesitate; instead, he held you to his body before pinning you down to the bed.

"A bit excited now, are we?" He rasped. You meekly nodded and said, "I need you." It seemed like that was all it took to convince the man pinning you as he quickly bent down to crash his lips onto yours.

Your tongues swirled together, and you pulled back, granting him full entrance to your mouth. As his tongue pushed through your lips, a moan had yet again escaped you. You felt your pool of arousal increase by the minute.

Nanami fumbled with your shirt, and you quickly ripped it off of yourself. Nanami had seen your body countless times before. However, it never ceased to amaze him how beautiful you were.

Suddenly cold with the loss of heat contact, you playfully pulled his tie towards you and wrapped your arms around his neck. Nanami seemed to thoroughly enjoy this, as a small' fuck,' escaped his lips before crashing onto yours.

You began un-knotting his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt, careful not to break your intimate contact. Nanami released his iron grip on your hands and trailed his fingers down your body, eliciting a moan from you.

Your core was throbbing with desire, and you felt the slick coating of wetness dampen your panties. Every time his fingers came into contact with your skin, you felt an energetic shock pulsate through your body.

In one quick movement, the blonde man ripped off your sweatpants, and you moaned from the sudden movement. "You’re being so good for me," Nanami muttered, a small huff escaped his mouth.

You un-clipped your bra and flung it out towards the room. Nanami wasted no time and plunged his face between your two mounds. You ground your pussy onto the folds of his pants, wanting nothing more than his face on your sopping wet cunt.

Nanami fondled one of your breasts with one hand and lapped up your other tit with his long tongue. You arched your back, wanting more contact and your heavy moans filled the room. As his tongue swirled over your nipple, he maintained eye contact with you.

The contact was almost enough to send you over the edge; however, you wanted to ride this out as long as possible, pun intended. You shut your eyes and leaned into your pillow, letting Nanami's intoxicating touch fill up your world. His fingers trailed long lines up and down the side of your body and finally rested on the waistband of your panties.

Suddenly, Nanami stopped his handiwork and looked at you with a pang of hunger you've never seen before. You noticed him glance towards the book in the middle of the bed and then back to you. "Were you reading this before I got here?" He asked quietly. With a dazed expression, you simply nodded.

"Get under the covers," he instructed. Confused, you did as you were told and shrugged into the covers. What was he up to? You wondered. You watched him as he slowly unbuckled his belt and let it clink to the floor. Yet again, you felt another pang of pleasure throbbing in between your legs. He slowly walked over to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers.

You stared up at the ceiling in complete surprise. What the hell was this man doing? Was he seriously only here to edge me? Nanami shifted over to look at you and quietly said, "I want you to read that book for me." You tried to hide your displeasure. What the fuck? You thought. You were under the impression that he was here to fuck you, not read him a bedtime story.

You sighed and picked up the book, flipping through the pages to find where you last read. "I'm currently on chapter 23: 'Classifications of the Curse Spirit'," you muttered. He quietly nodded and looked up at the ceiling. You shook your head and began to read the starting lines.

"The vengeful cursed spirit is a cursed spirit that is created when humans become a curse after death…" you grumbled. You look at Nanami, who is still staring at the ceiling. You slump back into the bed. What the actual fuck. "...erm, Those whose deaths are cursed have the possibility of having their spirit corrupted…"

Your words soon trailed off as you heard Nanami shift and slipped under the covers. Your insides jolted as your mind raced about what he could be up to. "Keep reading," he commanded. Your grip tightened on the book; you felt your core become slick again. Fuck, whatever this man was going to do to you, you knew it was going to be good.

You focused your attention on the book, trying to ignore the rustling covers as Nanami settled in between your legs. "Okay let's see- sorcerers have an increased chance of turning into a curse after death, but this can be prevented through juju-" your words are quickly cut off as you feel a wave of intense pleasure.

In the meantime of your reading, Nanami had slipped under the covers to venture off in between your legs. He felt for your waistband and lightly tapped it with his fingers. Nanami could practically feel your heat rising out of you. Carefully, he moved his hand down and lightly brushed over your clit.

"I told you to keep reading, y/n," he cooed. You moaned and arched your back as he brushed on your clit again, making your insides tingle. "N-Nanami," you sputtered, the daze of a high already settling in. You lost your grip on the book and it fell onto the large mound that was Nanami’s head. “Are you okay?” you said, as you scrambled to pull off the covers. Nanami tightened his grip on your legs and said, “Stop moving, give me your hands.”

You stopped writhing and slowly slid your hands under the covers. A rough pair of hands connect with yours and you promptly feel fabric being tied around your small hands. You nervously laugh- it was his spotted tie. “Nanami, what are you doing to me,” you laughed. He ignored you and handed the book to you.

"Read, and don’t drop it," he forcefully commanded. You stopped laughing and began to resume your readings quietly, but you bucked your hips towards his face as you felt hot kisses trail up and down your thighs. "Ah- Fuck, Nanami. I can't read when you're doing this to me," you said breathlessly.

“Read as best as you can, then,” he replied gruffly. The pleasure was ten times more intense, as the feeling of your constraints and the constant contact of Nanami kept you on your toes. Your hands were practically clamped down on the book so that you couldn’t do anything about the man pleasuring your slick pussy.

After Nanami was satisfied with the trail of love bites in your inner thighs, he began to slowly rub circles on your clothed clit. You moaned out a sigh of relief as you felt more contact with his hands. “A- a diseased cursed spirit-” you began, but your words fell into a moan as you felt Nanami pull down your panties with his teeth. “Shit,” you breathed out.

As Nanami pulled down your panties, a wave of blood rushed towards his cock as he saw your thick coating of slick string out. “You’re so wet for me, y/n,” he said hungrily. You moaned again as his wonderfully deep voice rumbled against your cunt. “N-nanami- you’re going to make me-” you muffle your screams and bit down on his tie that constrained your hands.

His tongue lightly swept over your slit, licking up your sweet desire. He bent his head down and lapped you up hungrily, stifling a moan. The vibrations of his voice further made your toes curl, and you soon began repeatedly groaning his name. You hooked your legs over his shoulders and stifled a scream as you could feel your destination come closer.

The Intense pleasure was something you had never fully experienced. As Nanami lapped up your wet pussy you heard and felt him spit on your clit. Your breath was erratic, and as your breathing slowed down, you felt two rough fingers slide into you.

“Read,” Nanami once again commanded as he took another lap in your slit. You sighed as you lifted the book back to your eyes. “Plague and general sickness are concepts constantly cursed by humanity,” you began, your breath hitched at certain words as Nanami slowly pumped in and out of you.

Suddenly, Nanami began to speed up; he curled and spread his fingers as he was inside of you. With the sudden movement, you felt your walls begin to pulsate- you were almost there.

“Oh fuck,” you whined, your hips bucked and swayed, finding just the right spot. Nanami groaned against your clit as your slit felt slicker by the moment. “Shit, I’m gonna-“ you heaved, your chest took shallow breaths, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You forced your eyes to open and with pleading eyes you asked Nanami if you could let yourself go.

It seemed like Nanami knew what you were asking for, despite his head still under the covers. “Cum for me, darling,” Nanami pitted against your pulsating heat of mess. Oh, how his words could make you unravel so quickly. You felt your heat burst and your teeth clamped on Nanami’s tie to muffle your screams. You closed your eyes and saw stars. You were fucked good.

As your high steadily came back down, Nanami shifted under the covers and came back up, his face full of your essence. His eyes were bright and alive, something you rarely saw. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about your slick on his face, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

As your breathing slowed, you pulled your hair away from your sweaty face. You turned your head to look at Nanami, your heart thumping out of your chest. “It’s only fair… that I repay you for your kindness,” you began, your hands trailing down his now crinkled dress shirt. He smiled and looked you up and down, “Sweetheart I don’t think you’re even able to get up and walk right now,” he laughed. “Besides, you can repay me later… not that I mind giving my services to you, free of charge,” he said quietly.

You smiled at him and brought the covers over your chest, your eyes feeling heavy with exhaustion. You heard Nanami leave the bed, but you were too tired to open your eyes. You must’ve fallen asleep as you felt darkness soon overtake you.

You felt a light tap on your chest and groggily looked up to see Nanami out of bed holding a hand out to you. “What are we doing now?” you asked tiredly. He kissed you on the head and laughed lightly. “Don’t worry, y/n. I know you’re tired, but we’ve got to clean you up,” he noted.

He led you to your bathroom, and as your eyes adjusted to the bright lights, you noticed that Nanami had drawn a bath for you. You looked back at him and chuckled. “Always the gentleman, Nanami.” He pecked you on the lips before carefully placing you inside the tub. Your muscles instantly relaxed from the hot, sudsy water. You smiled to yourself as you felt Nanami slip into the tub behind you.

You sighed with great content and leaned your head back on his chest. As you closed your eyes, you felt his hands skimming across your arms and legs, gently washing the previous activities that were stuck on your skin. You were in complete bliss. “Thank you, Nanami. For everything,” you gushed. “Anything for you, y/n,” he muttered.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad that you decided to read before bed.

🌻

[jaskierswolf]

Just the Three of Us

Written for @thewitcherbog teef week!

Prompt: Thigh bites

Ship: Geraskilion (Book!Dandy, Geralt, Jaskier)

Rating: Explicit

CW: smut ahead, blow jobs, threesome, voyeurism, exhibition, anal sex, mentions of double penetration, thigh riding/frottage, biting

_

When Jaskier had been portalled into a whole new realm, a parallel universe as it were, the last thing he’d expected was to end up in a relationship with another version of himself, and his life-long crush; Geralt of Rivia. Really, after so many years of travelling with his Geralt, he should have expected the unexpected, and if anyone was going to fuck themselves it would be him.

Or maybe Yennefer?

She definitely seemed like she was into some kinky shit. Yeah, she’d definitely fuck herself given the chance, and really Jaskier couldn’t blame her. He was hardly an innocent party, but Dandelion had been so fascinating and so beautiful that really Jaskier hadn’t stood a chance.

They were alike in many ways, but equally just as different, enough to make it absolutely thrilling. Dandelion knew exactly what Jaskier liked in bed, and their libidos pretty much matched, leading to a rather ridiculous amount of sex all around Geralt’s estate at Corvo Bianco. Clothes were a thing of the past, and if the surface was free enough, then it was very likely to be used for their exploits.

Geralt seemed almost relieved by Jaskier’s presence in their world, finally able to take a break from his bard’s insatiable sexual appetite. In this world, the witcher had a fondness for watching, sitting comfortably in the corner of the room, quite content to ignore his own erection as the two bards fucked each other in a frenzy. It was even hotter when Geralt took himself in hand, grunting as he came to the sight of his boyfriends. That always took Jaskier’s breath away, making his skin tingle and his cock twitch even mere moments after he’d cum.

But the best times were when Jaskier and Dandelion could lure their witcher boyfriend into their arms, lavishing him with attention, waxing poetry as they worshipped his body. Sometimes he would fuck one of them as they sucked the other’s cock. Other times, they would fuck Geralt at the same time. It took far too much thought and planning for Jaskier’s liking, but the end result was worth it, seeing Geralt’s hole stretched around both their cocks.

Fuck.

Was it any wonder that he couldn’t keep his hands to himself? He was just horny all the time, all the sinful memories trapped in his mind, replaying at the most inconvenient times, like when he was trying to write his entry into the Toussaint Bardic competition, for instance.

Well, if he was going to fail then the best thing he could do was drag Dandelion down with him. He smirked as he sprung from his chair in his office, and went to find his boyfriend.

“Lion?” he called as he wandered around the house, padding barefoot along the stone floors.

“In here!” Dandelion called back from the lounge, a couple of velvet couches set up in the front of the house.

Perfect.

Jaskier smiled seductively as he slid into his boyfriend’s lap, knocking the book from his hands and sending it tumbling to the floor.

“Hello,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Dandelion’s neck as he brushed the long blond hair behind his back. Dandelion let out a soft sigh, tilting his neck to give Jaskier better access, the skin already sporting a rather lovely dark bruise from Jaskier’s attention the night before. “I missed you.”

“Darling, it’s barely been an hour,” Dandelion reminded him, trailing his fingers along Jaskier’s spine, making him shiver as he kissed the hickey he’d already left behind.

“Hmm… far too long,” Jaskier agreed, nibbling at Dandelion’s ear and then capturing the poet’s lips in a lazy kiss, licking into his mouth, the taste of fiorano lingering on the poet’s tongue, rich and tantalizing, reminding Jaskier of their many picnics together in the fields surrounding the vineyards.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to turn heated, Jaskier wriggling in Dandelion’s lap, the poet’s hard cock pressed up against his arse. His fingers threaded into soft golden curls as he moaned into the kiss, yanking hard at the hair in his hands just to hear the sweet sound of his boyfriend’s moans, and Jaskier sat up just enough so he could reach behind him to guide Dandelion’s cock inside him, already loose and well slicked from Geralt’s cock not an hour before.

“Oh gods,” Dandelion gasped, his lips never leaving Jaskier’s. “You little whore.”

“Can’t leave you two alone for a minute.”

Jaskier moaned loudly as he turned to the door, and sure enough, there was Geralt gazing back at them with dark golden eyes, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He licked his lips as his eyes roamed over Jaskier’s body, lingering where Dandelion’s cock was pressed into his arse. Jaskier winked at the witcher, slowly pulling off Dandelion's cock before sinking back down with a choked gasp, biting down on his lip.

“Fuck, Geralt, it feels so good, he fills me up so well,” Jaskier whined, rolling his hips to drive Dandelion deeper inside him.

“Not well enough if you’re still running your mouth, darling,” the poet purred, capturing Jaskier’s lips in a searing kiss, nails scraping down Jaskier’s back as he thrust up, hitting that sweet spot with ease, sending sparks flying across Jaskier’s vision, and before he could recover, Dandelion had thrust up again.

“Ah- f-fuck!” Jaskier gasped, the words muffled as Geralt’s lips covered his, the taste of fine wine replaced dwarven spirit, but Jaskier didn’t mind, he could spend a lifetime kissing Geralt and never get bored, especially whilst impaled on Dandelion’s cock.

Geralt’s hand pinched Jaskier’s nipple as his tongue delved into Jaskier’s mouth, leaving him breathless, and falling towards oblivion as Dandelion fucked into him with sharp thrusts. Calloused fingers trailed through the thick dark hair on his chest until they finally wrapped around Jaskier’s cock, and with just a few quick tugs, Jaskier spilled all over Geralt’s hand, droplets of cum hitting Dandelion’s chest.

Before Jaskier could catch his breath, he was pulled into Geralt’s arms, away from his beautiful poet, and he let out a soft whine, reaching out for Dandelion. “Lion…” he slurred, gazing at his boyfriend through the fog in his mind.

“I’m here, my dear buttercup, no witcher can take you away from me, isn’t that right, Geralt?” Dandelion purred, licking his lips as he looked at Geralt over Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Wouldn’t even try,” Geralt agreed, humming as Dandelion stood up, leaning into Geralt’s side as the pair of them shared a deep kiss. “Bedroom, more room there.”

“Excellent plan, my dear.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier agreed, mouthing at Geralt’s shoulder.

When Geralt finally kicked open their shared bedroom, Dandelion crawled onto the mattress and then beckoned them with a crook of his finger. “Won’t you join me, loves?”

“With pleasure,” Geralt growled, setting Jaskier down in the middle of the bed and then pulling Dandelion into another kiss over Jaskier, until Jaskier started to pout, feeling needy and left out.

He managed to get his hand between the two, pushing Geralt back onto the bed, and positioning himself between the two as he kissed down the witcher’s body, nibbling gently at each and every scar that passed under his lips. Finally, Dandelion joined him, licking and kissing at Geralt’s nipples as he straddled one leg, his still hard cock leaking as he rutted against the thick muscles of Geralt’s thigh. It was a dizzying sight, and Jaskier’s cock was already threatening to fill out once more. He groaned into Geralt’s skin as his teeth nipped at the soft curve of Geralt’s stomach.

“Gods, you’re so hot,” he murmured, one hand pressed against Dandelion’s thigh, as the poet rode the witcher so beautifully, golden curls falling in front of his face as he lost himself in his own pleasure, the most beautiful medley of moans and gasps escaping his lips.

“Oh fuck,” Dandelion moaned, long lutist fingers wrapped around his cock as he brought himself off, his cum covering Geralt’s stomach, tantalizingly close to Jaskier’s lips and tongue.

“Such a mess,” Geralt hummed, his fingers carding through Jaskier’s head, eyes dark with hunger as he watched his two bards use his body for their pleasure. “Clear it up.” The order was gentle, more of a suggestion but it still had Jaskier’s head reeling and he let out an obscene moan, crawling back up Geralt’s body to lick the mess of cum off the pale skin.

It wasn’t his favourite taste, but he felt filthy, and wasn’t that just the best fucking feeling when having sex with the two most beautiful people in all the universes.

When he was done, Dandelion pulled him into a sloppy kiss as both their hands reached for Geralt’s cock together. They laughed as they broke apart, eyes meeting, two very different bards, but still the same in so many ways…

Without talking, they both settled between Geralt’s thighs, Jaskier taking the head of his cock into his mouth, whilst Dandelion kissed the shaft. Above them, Geralt swore, his hips bucking off the mattress, and he dick fucking deeper into Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier whined, a little surprised but taking Geralt’s cock with practiced ease, hollowing his cheeks, and bobbing his head as the witcher settled back onto the bed. Next to him, Dandelion hummed happily, kissing at the soft pale skin of Geralt’s thighs, and as he met Jaskier’s eyes he winked, and bit down hard, nearly breaking the skin. Geralt cursed, a growl tearing from his throat as he struggled to catch his breath, but the two of them managed to keep him pinned to the bed as they worked. With a content hum, Jaskier pulled off of Geralt’s cock, sharing a quick kiss with Dandelion before they swapped places, the poet licking a long stripe up the underside of Geralt’s cock before swallowing it down, Jaskier’s hand stroking the base where Dandelion couldn’t quite fit it all in without damaging his throat.

The bite mark on Geralt’s thigh was already red and swollen, a perfect indentation of Dandelion’s teeth marking the witcher as his. Well, that wouldn’t do at all.

Jaskier giggled, his lips grazing over the tender skin on Geralt’s other thigh, mirroring where Dandelion's mark was, and nipped gently, kissing and nibbling all the way down to Geralt’s knee. He pressed a single kiss to the side of Geralt’s knee, a silvery scar marring the skin there, and then ran his nose back up along the inside of his thigh until he reached his mark. As Geralt’s gasps and pants grew more frantic, Jaskier bit down, sucking a dark bruise into the skin, just as the witcher came with a guttural moan that would haunt Jaskier’s dreams for years to come.

“Fuck!” Geralt cursed, the word slurred as he slowly recovered from his orgasm, letting Dandelion and Jaskier kiss him lazily until one golden eye cracked open, the taste of their witcher’s cum lingering on their tongues.

“Fuck indeed,” Jaskier sighed, and the three of them collapsed onto the bed, far too exhausted to move.

_

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @unyielding-as-the-sea @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire

[ilikemesometaetaes]

Set Me Free (M)

Min Yoongi Oneshot

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes​

•••> Summary: You are just an ordinary woman with a strange aura about you that Yoongi can’t seem to resist- even past the compulsion of his mentor. The question is: why?

•••> Pairing(s): Yoongi/Reader

•••> Requested by @itsgottabeyoo-ngs​ : “Hi daddy, One shot request with vampire Yoongi x brat reader. Bonus points for adding in choking or spitting idk make it filthy k thanks love you byeeeee xoxoxoxox”

•••> Word Count: 10.95k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Tags: smut | vampire!au | Yoongi!AU | Vampire’s Mate | Vampire!Yoongi | Human!Reader | Gifted!Reader

•••> Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, murder, attempted murder, slight choking/strangulation, dirty talk, biting, blood drinking, spitting, violence, horror, vampire/human relationship, cursing, mental attachment, thirsty Yoongi, Yoongi thinks he’s scary, but he’s totally not

Copyright © 2020 ilikemesometaetaes. All Rights Reserved.

Thank you for the request, babe! This one is a bit to unpack, as you can see. I hope you enjoy :)

~#~

Yoongi never claimed to have his thirst under complete control.

He stands before his brothers once every week for the feed, snarling as he consumes his share of blood, while the others bear witness so as to provide him ceremonial protection- a vampire is very vulnerable while he consumes blood. The polydipsia made one lose all form of reason and sense of mind, driven to the brink of animalistic insanity when it was in the process of mildly quenching the eternal hunger.

Polydipsia, used to describe his level of thirst, was the word made just for him in his own little world.

It wasn’t normal thirst, like a human, but the savage-like impulse to drink and drown until he could swim in a river of blood and take deep lungfuls of the crimson fluid. The impossible desire to consume and be completely consumed by blood until he became it himself always loomed over his mind in his early days as a Deadblood- a vampire youngling- causing him to search for a word that could completely describe his affliction.

Then the Greeks begun transforming their language, perfecting the word that he could use to chronicle his need. He had mulled over the thought throughout the few centuries that the word came into existence, truly connecting with it on a level that was deprived of him when his soul was taken from his body.

But the word was not only used to describe normal thirst; it described the abnormal desire to drink as a symptom of disease- and a disease is what Min Yoongi had.

From the days he explored the lands of Goryeo as a young teenage boy, he knew that disease racked every inch of the world. Street beggars, riddled with sicknesses and incurable illnesses, asked him for coin, food, clothing, and any necessities that could potentially carry them through the night into another sunrise. But the one thing that they begged for the most was water.

Liquid life. Yoongi thinks back on the ironic turn of events and how, even as a privileged boy of nobles, he understood just how desperate a person got when they were deprived of the one, singular fluid that supported life as he knew it.

As Yoongi approached adulthood, he was promoted and bestowed larger honors in the name of the Min clan, allowing him to provide more for the beggars and lower-class individuals that he came across on the streets every day- not that his father would find out.

Until he did.

Yoongi recalls the moment he knew that his father figured out that his son was spoiling the family riches on the lower class. They weren’t sitting down for dinner and having a conversation nor taking a stroll along the river like the two of them normally would- it was quite surprising, really. Yoongi had to applaud his father for the creativity of the circumstance.

He knew that his father figured out his whereabouts when he found himself bleeding out in the middle of the woods with three arrows, adorned with the Min clan crest carved into the wood, sticking out of his chest. He was sent to look for his supposedly lost little sister under the direction that she was probably at a watering hole- which Yoongi had never heard about- about forty-five minutes from the edge of Goryeo’s walls.

Many people ventured outside of the city to fend for food and necessities, or to find civilization elsewhere, so it wasn’t surprising to him that his curious baby sister wanted to see for herself what life was like outside of the city’s limits.

As Yoongi lay dying on the soil of the earth, staring up at the greenery of the trees above while they lightly swayed in the breeze, he realized that everyone, regardless of social-class or physical health, was fighting the same, universal disease: death. No one could escape it and no one was safe. At least, that’s the epiphany he had in an effort to comfort himself while he felt his heart painfully struggle to beat with an arrowhead lodged into it. Copious amounts of blood spurt out with each pulse of his damaged organ.

And then the universe decided to set him free from death with a cure worse than the disease itself.

Yoongi doesn’t remember who his creator was. He doesn’t remember how long he spent on the forest floor with the arrows still in his chest. He doesn’t remember waking up.

His memory of his new life started from the moment his consciousness returned, in the exact second that he found a set of vocal cords clutched in the palm of his hand, dripping with crimson, after apparently ripping them out of a young boy who was actively collapsing in front of him. The boy, who Yoongi immediately recognized from the streets of Goryeo, was choking on his own gore as he clutched at his now nonexistent throat, staring up at his killer with a jumbled expression that silently begged for help yet withdrew from terror.

It took Yoongi five years of trekking everywhere and no where while attempting to control his thirst before he found new meaning. He mostly had a hold on the scorch in his throat by staying away from the city and surrounding villages before he met another and figured out what he became.

The woman- no, girl?- appeared young yet spoke as if she had seen countless winters, the wisdom of a million middays glowing behind her carmine eyes. She was the first person he had met who did not end up dead within the first two minutes of scenting them on the wind.

“You are a vampire. You survive purely on the life essence of others. You are still a young Deadblood. Judging by your age, you should become a Redblood soon.” She sat with her back to him, overlooking the valley below the then-unnamed Odaesan mountain that they sat perched upon. “Do you know who created you?”

“Created me?” He asked. “What do you mean? My parents?”

She turned, her vibrant red eyes continuing to shock him. Did his own orbs look like this?

“I mean, who turned you?” She seemed to look at him incredulously, shocked by his lack of knowledge. “Who gave you their venom- their shi?”

“I…” Yoongi tried very hard to remember anything before the burning sensation that scraped like rocks against the insides of his bones and flesh, but all he could see and feel was fire and agony- and then blood. He couldn’t help but think with a grain of salt, disbelieving of the method in which he was born into his new life. “I don’t know. I just remember from my first kill.”

“Strange.” The other vampire muttered, returning her gaze to the valley. “Strange, indeed.”

Yoongi was always the silent type, only interacting when he needed to as a habit formed to avoid the questioning glare of his father when he returned home late on certain occasions.

But he couldn’t help the burning desire of curiosity within him, a welcome distraction from the need to feed within him. He had so many questions.

“You may ask your questions, Min Yoongi.” The woman sighed, not even bothering to spare him a glance whilst she spoke. The man was shocked to find that she knew his name without him telling her.

“How do you know my name?” The new revelation took precedent in his mind, hoping that she was not an enemy of his clan.

“A valid question.” She mused. “Anticipated, but valid. I suppose I’ll answer your question to the best of my ability.”

Yoongi shifted his position in preparation, a new habit that he formed in his new life. He learned from the first time he moved to stretch that his body did not need to be stretched as it usually did. He never ached, never cramped, never tired, and never lost energy. Despite the lack of his emotions in their usual form, he knew that it should have been unsettling to find such a new change within him, so he did the sensible thing of pretending that he needed to.

He pretended he needed to breathe- after two hours at the bottom of a lake he stumbled upon in his aimless journey, he was amazed to find that he required no oxygen to continue existing- and that he didn’t need to sleep nor use the bathroom. He would practice taking breaths, trying to inhale and exhale evenly without becoming allured to the pungent yet undeniably attractive scent of animal blood so that he could finally smell the forest again. He pretended to go to sleep and wake up with the urge to relieve himself of the noneixstent pressure in his bladder despite not having any of the instincts he once had.

The woman spoke, answering his first question.

“I can hear your thoughts. They’re not necessarily specific, but I can hear when you are wistful- like you are now- or when you are curious or sad or angry. I can hear the causes of these emotions.” She paused. “It comes with the gift of my second life. A form of protection, if you will.”

“Why would I need protection when I am invincible? I’ve seen the things I can do and what my body can endure.” He briefly recalled repeatedly jumping from a cliff, automatically landing on his feet no matter how hard he tried not to. Before, he had a will to survive with a choice of dying, but now? There was no comprehensible choice. “There is nothing that can hurt me.”

Yoongi couldn’t help cocking his head to the side like a confused dog when the woman let out a breathless laugh.

“Because, young one,” She looked at him with her eyes again, a look of mock endearment filling them. “You are not invincible.”

For a moment, Yoongi did not believe her. He believed that the liquid running through his veins was pure ichor, an essence of the gods, but when he returned her look of sincere truth, he understood that dying was still very much possible.

Thanking the gods, Yoongi looked to the ground and began toying with his fingers at his revelation. He could stop murdering people, willing to die in order to do so.

The woman shook her head. “No, Min Yoongi. You do not have to die to stop killing humans. In fact, it is the reason I have not killed you yet. You are unaware of the possibilities.”

His head perked up at the comment, suddenly eager to learn.

“How? How can I live without killing?” All he could see was the young boy that he had murdered in cold blood; the boy’s warm brown eyes staring up at him as he watched the life drain from them burned into his memory- he didn’t even know the boy’s name. The boy could not have been older than his own sister.

“I never told you that you could continue to live without killing. Of course, you have to kill. But you do not have to kill people.” The woman nodded her head down the mount. “Do you smell that? Do you smell the life that lives throughout this mountain?”

Yoongi attempted to focus on his senses but could only feel the thirst once again tormenting his throat. As soon as the woman shifted his attention back to the aroma of life, he salivated. Of course, he smelled the animal’s scents, but he could also detect traces of human life upwind that completely took away his desire for anything but humans.

“Push the thirst aside to open your senses. Embrace them. Embrace your power and your abilities. Focus on those.”

Again, he tried to push the scorch in his throat to the side, only to find that it was an impossible feat seeing as he had not fed in several months. He wanted human blood so badly.

“Poor child. I did not realize how weak you were.” She let a grimace morph her features, the first true expression of genuine emotion that Yoongi had seen on her. “Come sit in front of me. I will help you.”

For a moment, Yoongi hesitated. Was she going to kill him? He was not sure, but after a few more thoughts to himself, he realized that he had nothing to lose. Following her direction obediently, he moved to sit with his legs crossed in front of the woman.

“Now, close your eyes and listen to my voice.” She raised her hands to his head, placing her fingertips on his temples, and began whispering while he let his eyes flutter closed.

He felt as if he was mentally hit by a charging bear.

The woman’s words echoed in his mind, seating themselves amongst every corner and crevice that they could touch before Yoongi could understand what was happening. Shocked by the feeling of being intruded upon, he tried to push back against the mind-numbing force of her words, uncomfortable and feeling violated by the sensation. Instead of stopping them, her voice just broke down his amateur attempt at a mental barrier and pushed its way further into his brain. He was helpless to her superior mental awareness and gift.

“You will not focus on the thirst. You will focus on your abilities. Focus on the blood of animals and the blood of those already dead.”

And Min Yoongi had no option but to obey for he was forced into a dieted life.

But as he stands, thousands of years later, in the middle of your kitchen whilst watching you silently with the inferno of the blazing sun in his esophagus, he couldn’t help the need that overcame him. He could not obey his mentor; miraculously and horrifyingly, the gift of his mentor did not work with you.

He was impelled by his mentor’s gift, effectively removing most of the bloodlust he had for humans. In his lifetime, after the unavoidable command was bestowed upon him, he had only killed a handful of humans when he was consumed by the thirst after living in self-induced exile for so long. But standing before you, he may have needed to add a finger to that handful depending on what you did next.

Yoongi first clocked you on his radar the moment you walked into the small coffee shop he was occupying for the later part of the morning.

Building a friendship with you was quite easy.

You were bright and warm and everything wonderful upon meeting him. Your smile was just shy of naive, yet he couldn’t help the alien tugs on his heart when watching you giggle.

“How old are you, Yoongi?” You asked while circling the straw in your caramel macchiato.

“Old enough.” He chuckled, looking down with what you perceived as shyness.

“Oh?” You laughed with him. “And how old is enough for you?”

“I could ask you the same question. How old do you think I am?” He met your eyes, once again shocking you with their beautifully vibrant shade of brown.

“Well…” You trailed off, studying his facial features closely- the hint of a permanent smile line, fresh haircut, and no wrinkles alluded that he couldn’t be over thirty. “I’m gonna say… twenty-five?”

The man across from you smiled. “Very close. I’m twenty-seven.”

So he wasn’t that much older than you. You could totally do him.

Yoongi noticed the flash of lust that ghosted through your pupils for a split second, recognizing the dilation of them as you glanced at him. He watched you stick your chest out a bit more, begin fiddling with your hair more often, and part your lips while you let the thoughts of sexual satisfaction run across your mind.

“Twenty-seven, huh? That’s not bad at all.” You smiled, letting your tongue lightly swipe along your bottom lip unconsciously.

Yoongi zeroed in on the action with a piercing gaze, watching as the muscle seemed to move in slow motion tauntingly, daring him to dig his fangs into it savagely before tearing it from your mouth to feel the blood pouring from your lips onto his face. 

His body reacted sensibly, blood rushing like fake adrenaline to awaken his better instincts- rushing everywhere- and making his jeans become uncomfortably tight as they restrained his filling manhood. 

Blood drinking was as exciting as it was satisfying for a vampire. An extremely personal and holy moment, consuming lifeblood was the most raw and sexual moment to experience. A vampire could not experience real sexual desire without it.

He dug his fingers into the faux leather of his side of the booth until they broke through the material to restrain himself from attempting to attack you in the middle of the day.

Quickly, gaining his sense of mind once again, he tore more holes into the leather to round out the punctures so that it could appear as if the holes were from wear and tear.

The scent of your blood transpierced by the hormones and adrenaline beginning to flow through your veins made it just that much more implausibly alluring. Yoongi admitted that you were a beautiful and kind woman from the conversation throughout the morning. He also knew that you had a deviant side due to the surprisingly quick appearance of your lust-filled gaze.

Yet he couldn’t help the urge to murder you on the spot.

He knew that he couldn’t touch you. The supernatural safety of the sun that shone on your body prevented him from laying a finger on your skin without his own lighting aflame. He learned the protection of sun rays on humans the hard way.

His fifth human victim, a monk who travelled the heights of Mount Odaesan- Yoongi’s sanctuary and home- for a religious trial, travelled early in the morning as the sun was rising. Yoongi smelt the sweat dripping from the man’s skin instantly. In the small cove he called home, he tried to resist the urge to kill the man for he hadn’t smelt human blood in several years.

His mentor’s words were ever present. ‘Focus on the blood of animals and the blood of those already dead.’

Despite having those words affecting his instincts, Yoongi had managed to convince himself that the monk was a dead man standing once he smelled remnants of a virus tainting his scent, effectively bypassing the impulsion of the woman’s mind control.

Yoongi found himself rushing at the man without a second thought, fangs bared and fingers curled in preparation to tear the man’s limbs from his body. However, before he could get within two feet of the vulnerable monk, he was thrown back by an invisible and boiling hot force that left him screaming in agony and flying through the air.

The monk quickly ran back down the mountain in terror, yet Yoongi could pay no mind as he lay on the forest floor, ready to die once again as his skin singed and fell from his flesh like swamp sludge.

As his throat tore itself raw from his wails of misery, his body writhed in and out on itself in complete and utter anguish. The smell of burnt flesh overwhelmed his nostrils, pungent and nauseating in every possible way. How he was able to focus on something other than the pain was beyond him.

Despite the burning, Yoongi could feel his aflame skin beginning to heal itself. Clawing through the dirt, he felt the blood stored in his stomach rushing through his veins to the broken and severed ones, rebuilding them and recreating the network of arteries necessary to begin restoring his expanse of skin.

Before long, the pain subsided and Yoongi was no longer screaming. The entire ordeal lasted approximately twenty minutes- long enough that Yoongi no longer heard the footsteps of the monk and long enough for him to process the events that had just happened. 

He was thankful that he became a Redblood with the ability to use consumed blood throughout his body, unsure of what would have happened to him if he had been a Deadblood at the time. Deadbloods burned through consumed blood quicker than a spark from a flint could ignite kindling into a flame.

He definitely needed to ask the woman, Zizi, about it. And he definitely needed to track that monk until sundown so that he could get rid of any loose ends.

Yoongi grimaced slightly, remembering the occurrence like it was yesterday, as he sat across from you.

You were still looking down at your cup in blissful unawareness of his inner turmoil and life that he’s lived thus far. You definitely were not dense enough to not notice his gaze on your skin, but you were definitely ignorant of the fact that he was thinking about what would happen if he could just get you to move a few feet to the right to gain cover from the direct line of the sun. He just needed to get you into the shadows.

“Y/N,” He called your name. You instantly looked up in response. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.” You teased him back with his own words. He let a small smile thin his lips before he looked down to hide it. When you followed his gaze and noticed that he didn’t have a drink, you jumped to the opportunity.

“Can I buy you a drink, Min Yoongi?” You asked him.

“Oh, I’m not particularly craving coffee at the moment.” He paused and held his breath, as if trying to find the words to say. “I just like to sit here sometimes and enjoy watching the street.”

“Well,” Ask him! Ask him out! Yes! Do it! Your head screamed at you to be confident. You knew he was the shy type; you would be waiting all day for him to make a move and you just didn’t have the time nor patience for that. “Let me get you a drink at my bar?”

The man looked mildly impressed for a moment. “You own a bar?”

“A small one.” You swiftly added. “It’s not a big popular one or anything but I didn’t want a place too big. I like the smaller things.”

Yoongi couldn’t help but smile. You were a kind and beautiful woman living a simple life. He dreaded the moment that he was going to have to kill you.

“I take it you’re pretty well off then?” He asks. “And please don’t take this as me digging around. I’m just curious.”

“Don’t worry about it. Yeah, actually.” You laughed and sat back in your chair, looking out the window onto the street as people and cars passed by. “I’ve always been pretty lucky for some reason. The gods always seem to be in my favor and give me what I want.”

Yoongi smirked for a moment. If she wants me, she can have me. Then, I’ll have her.

When Yoongi found himself in the prime position to attack you in your kitchen, several weeks later, he knew. He finally had you where he wanted you.

A handful of dates that he found quite pleasant were all it took. 

You turned out to be just what he thought- a strangely attractive and alluring woman, the scent of your blood aside. You exhumed an odd magnetism about you that Yoongi had never felt from a human. He regretted the decision of waiting so long to kill you seeing as he was considering letting you live. But he knew that he couldn’t do that.

With your back turned to him, busying yourself with dinner, he could easily snap your neck so that you wouldn’t scream and struggle- and you would be dead almost instantly. A quick and nearly painless death was what you deserved. He didn’t want you to suffer at all.

However, just as he crouched in preparation to lunge at you, you spoke.

“Are you ready for dinner, babe?” You asked him.

He smiled devilishly, venom filling his mouth as he salivated. “Yes, I am. I’m starving.”

You chuckled. “Okay.”

“Go and sit down at the table.”

It was the most simple of commands. Telling Yoongi to sit down wasn’t an order. You weren’t demanding him to do it. You never demanded anything of him. It was a mere suggestion in your eyes.

Yet Yoongi felt his body moving to the dinner table without a second thought, unable to resist obeying your words.

What in the everliving fuck.

He sat quickly, impotent to move from his spot while he waited for you to bring the food from the counter. His thirst obliterated his throat, causing it to seize up and restrict any air that he could previously breathe, but he sat in wonder as you seemed to hold power over him that he had never felt before.

You turned with both of your dinner plates in hand and he quickly smothered the panic on his face, wondering what in the world had just happened.

“I’m not at all a chef, but you better eat everything.” Yoongi tested your words, seeing if the inclination to finish your food was present, only to find a slight mental nudge- as he expected. You didn’t tell him to do anything; you merely made an ‘or else’ statement.

No longer desperate to kill you for the time being, Yoongi sat still and waited for your next words. Once you sat the plate in front of him, you uttered a joke.

“Dig in.”

And dig in Yoongi did. He picked up his fork and scooped into the pasta you made without any willingness to deny you.

The pasta wasn’t fantastic in any sort of the word- It was plain, although it could be due to the fact that it wasn’t at all what he truly craved and needed. It was like eating a piece of stale bread while he was offered a perfectly cooked and outright juicy steak on a silver platter. The food that he ate wouldn’t be consumed by his body and used for nutrients; the shi in his stomach would burn it to nothingness within the next few hours.

Uncontrollably, Yoongi shoved mouthful after mouthful into his mouth- he couldn’t stop. Once he finished chewing one bite, his hand was immediately bringing him another, and then another. Despite lacking the need to breathe, Yoongi felt himself suffocating with each bite as the realization that he could do nothing except eat his food settled in his mind.

“I see you were hungry.” You laughed, unaware of his predicament. Yoongi’s eyes shot up to yours and silently hoped you would give him another command so that he could stop the foolishness.

You, however, just sat there feeling sort of proud of yourself- not only for making an edible meal, but for making one Yoongi seemed to enjoy. Even though it was slightly shocking to see him out of his usually cool character, acting like a man suffering from hunger, you couldn’t help but find it undeniably cute.

Eating slowly while watching him, you let your feelings for him come to the surface.

Yoongi was utterly beautiful. His black hair that fell over his face while he was cleaning up the last bits of his plate was just long enough to cover his eyes, yet as he looked at you without reservation, you felt he had a clear line of sight straight into your soul.

His skin was nearly flawless save for the light and narrow scar that cut into his right eye. Others found the scar intimidating and ugly, but you found it rather attractive. Yoongi, with his uncanny physical allure, was undeniably the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

Your body was alight with joy and content. In the few weeks that you got to know him, liking him was incredibly easy and having him in your home, in a domestic setting, lit your heart on fire with the possibility of falling in love with him.

He was incredibly easy to love, you discovered. Everything about him begged you to fall for him. As if the universe created him just for you, Min Yoongi was the epitome of perfection- in your eyes, anyway.

Briefly, you had shown a photo of him to your mother. She became unsettled instantly by his appearance.

“He’s so pale. And a little scary-looking.” She squinted at the photo you took of him when he wasn’t looking. You never brought him up again to your mother, disliking the fact that she didn’t like your potential boyfriend and found him scary.

The picture just happened to be your favorite- being because he didn’t like pictures and it was the only one you had of him.

He kindly asked you to not take photos of him. When you prompted him as to why during one of your more intimate moments at your bar, he only answered playfully as he held you close to him, lips begging for you to kiss them.

“Because I don’t want to leave evidence.” He whispered, breath tickling your nose. His body was warm and sturdy, muscles rippling under your touch as you clung to his shoulders.

“Evidence from what?” You asked breathily. The heat in your panties had increased tenfold over the last few minutes as his eyes grew hungrier with want. Yoongi’s fingers dug into your waist painfully, pulling you so close that you barely had room to expand your lungs to breathe, yet you couldn’t help the edgy feeling of how rough he could be with you.

“From when I eat you up.”

Thinking back on the memory, you shivered involuntarily, hoping that tonight might be the night you actually get to have him. He’d made you wait for a little over a month and you had no idea why. You definitely felt him straining through his pants a few times. But no kisses or anything further than the pressing of your bodies was accomplished.

Yoongi finished his plate and sat upright briskly, pulling you from your wishful thinking with a jump.

“Y/N,” He nearly growled, shocking you. “What else do you want me to do?”

The fork you were holding clattered to your plate instantly. Wow. He’s sizzling hot.

“I-“ You stuttered a bit. “I- uh.”

“Spit it out.” He hissed. You jumped again, trying to find the words to say with the heat growing in your panties.

Quickly, you answered him. “I want you to take me to my bedroom.”

“Thank god.” He groaned, getting up slowly with a smirk on his face. “Is that just a request? Because I can walk out now if you don’t actually want this.”

“Take me to my bedroom, Yoongi.” You stood slowly, carefully, as if you were afraid to trigger him.

Yoongi pushed in his chair and moved towards you at a speed that was almost inhuman. You yelped in astonishment as Yoongi attempted to control himself- he couldn’t bring you to your bedroom at his natural speed or else he would have a very motion-sick human to worry about. Instead, he trembled with the effort to resist your command at full force, knowing that the only way it was possible was due to the fact that he was still, in fact, taking you to your bedroom.

Picking you up was easier than breathing. You weighed absolutely nothing in his arms because of his advanced strength, so when he felt you trying to assist him in carrying you by holding your body stiffly, he huffed out a laugh whilst he walked.

“Relax, woman. You are as light as a feather.”

You blushed under his words, leaning into his chest to hide your cheeks.

“Stop that.” He growled, entering your bedroom. You looked up at him and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the blood that rushed to your cheeks. “I can’t resist if you do that.”

“Then don’t.” You whispered. Your heart pounded in your chest, begging him to hear it. “Don’t resist.”

His fangs came forth immediately, for he could not resist your command while he flew to your bed to throw you down. Despite your unknowing of what you were telling him to do, he fostered no opposition to what he was about to do.

The roughness of his throw startled you for a moment as you looked up at his vastly approaching figure, only to grow terrified when you caught sight of his face.

The veins protruding out of his temples and cheeks pumped blood straight into the whites of his eyes, turning them completely bloodshot, as they framed the now-crimson irises. Long incisors protruded from his mouth as he opened it with a hiss, revealing the way his human teeth shifted apart to allow his inhuman ones to break through the gums. Instantly, you parted your lips to scream.

Yoongi was upon you instantly, hand covering your mouth and silencing your cry while he snarled menacingly, yet he couldn’t help but feel remorse for killing you.

“I’m sorry.” He whimpered through his animalistic demeanor. “I can’t stop.”

You were screaming below his hand and, instantaneously, he had an idea.

He was leaning forward slowly, able to slow himself in the process of not resisting you. “Y/N,” He strained, changing the frequency of his talent, and waited for you to silence yourself in order to listen to him. He took his hand off of your mouth slowly after he heard your heart calm itself past your weeping. “Tell me to stop.”

“Stop!” You sobbed whilst clawing at his chest and kicking at his legs. “Don’t kill me!”

Not a second passed before Yoongi flew off of you, throwing his back to your wall with a loud thud while he cursed lowly.

You scrambled to the headboard of your bed, pressing your back against it in an attempt to gain some distance between the two of you. Your eyes were wide, chest heaving with your breath short, as you looked at the man in front of you.

“I-“ Yoongi stuttered for the first time in decades. “I’m sorry.”

“Your eyes!” Your burst out. You were unable to contain your fear and shock, so you displaced it into your curiosity. “Y-your- Your face! Your teeth!”

Yoongi stood against the wall, breathing just as hard as you, with his eyes cast to the floor in the process of trying to control his facial features. He could no longer kill you. The thought revolted him- every time he considered drinking your blood, the idea was banished from his mind with a sense of nausea following. Good god. She is unaware of her ability yet I am completely at her mercy.

“I apologize. I couldn’t help myself.” He breathed. What Yoongi forgot to take into account was the fact that he began implementing the gift of his second life on you the moment he stepped foot through your threshold, so your mind was completely scrambled by this point.

It was nighttime now; he could not leave your house no matter how hard he tried. He knew of the fallacy that vampires needed to be invited in and he found himself giggling from time to time at how close humans got to the actual lore of his kind.

He could enter your house, uninvited, during the day. He could lurk every corner of your abode without a bother, yet when night fell and the sun finally set, he would be stuck inside until morning. He knew he would be staying the night in your house the moment he agreed to have dinner with you. If he attempted to enter through your door during the night, however, he would have no luck- the night’s protection would convince his brain to walk away from your home without any further reconsideration until he was a good distance from it.

He was in the first position now.

He wished that he could leave you and disappear from your life without a trace so that you could live a peaceful and happy life without him, but he was afraid that it was impossible now with sundown a mere two hours prior. Your powers were no match for the natural protection of the earth. The both of you had a long night ahead of yourselves.

So he used his ability. Yoongi gave you control- rational thought, rather. His gift allowed him to grant organization of the mind and precise focus to others, but he could also take it away.

Upon entering your home, he began the process of slowly but surely ebbing away your barriers and logical thought- he couldn’t do it too fast or else you would panic like you were now. With a presently impossible-to-kill human whose heart was beating out of her chest and a command to not kill you forcing him into submission, he was obligated to prevent you from having a heart attack that was caused by him.

With laser-like focus, he channeled his gift straight into your open mind. Yoongi rebuilt the walls he had previously broken down over the past few hours, restocked your jumbled thoughts into their proper spaces, and flowed his energy through each corridor of judicious conception so that you could continue to develop your focus into that of supernatural proportion. He hoped that you, with a new mind, would tell him to get away from you and to kill himself. Dying by the hands of such a robust ability wouldn’t be too bad of a way to go.

You, however, never had such a decisive mind. Your mind was never clearer and you had never felt such clarity in your thoughts before. It allowed you to feel the magnetism that he radiated.

You knew he was a vampire. You don’t remember how you knew or how you recognized it, but you knew that he was not the first of his kind you had come across. Maybe it was the obvious fangs that gave it away.

“Yoongi,” You whispered. “You’re a vampire.”

His eyes, now back to their normal gorgeously coffee-bean shade, flicked up to yours in surprise.

“You know what I am?” He spluttered, flabbergasted. “You don’t think I’m a demon? Or the devil?”

“I’m not stupid. I know a vampire when I see one.” Your tone did not waver nor shake despite being a potential victim to a vampire. Was it the adrenaline?

“Then you know that I am a danger to you.” He said lowly, shock still evident on his face, while he began gravitating towards your bedroom door to leave.

“No. Stay.” You found yourself pining for his presence while he froze up in his spot. You eyed the action analytically. “If you were a danger to me, I wouldn’t be alive right now. You had plenty opportunity to kill me.”

“That’s the thing,” His hands pressed to the wall and scratched into it with the effort to move further from you. “I don’t have much of a choice anymore.”

“And why is that?” You relaxed your body and slowly slid your way across the bed towards him.

“Because I can’t.” Yoongi actually gasped for air as you stood from your bed to slowly approach him. “Y/N. Don’t come near me.”

“Why don’t you have a choice?” You ignored his warning, fully aware of the risk you were taking yet uncaring of the consequences. You were too focused on the fact that you actually wanted him.

Yoongi could not move from his spot, a side effect of your command to stay, but he refused to meet your eyes. The irresistible scent of your blood clashing with the order to not kill you fucked with his mind in ways he never experienced, creating an excruciatingly splitting headache between his temples. He wanted to drink from you so bad yet he could not move a single muscle.

“You can tell me to do anything. You can tell me to stay away from you. You can tell me to leave you alone. Hell, you can tell me to kill myself and I’d do it.” He ground out, attempting to press his back further into the wall as he felt your body heat against his skin. You came too close. He could smell your hormones lacing through your blood, triggering a wash of his shi over his dry tongue and a yearning to tear you apart overriding his senses.

He wanted to sink his fangs into your flesh so badly that he was beginning to scare himself. Allowing his venom to seep into your system would undoubtedly send you into ecstasy; you would only feel a pinch of pain as his saliva instantly burned through your nerves and set them alight. He could kill you while you were in pleasure; you wouldn’t feel anything but bliss as he drained the life from you.

“And why do you, a powerful creature such as yourself, allow me to have this power over you?” You asked. Was he in love with you? You definitely could love the man with how much you felt drawn to him but, for crying out loud, it had only been a few weeks.

“I don’t allow it. You are a gifted human. You possess this power over me.” Although Yoongi enjoyed having a calm conversation with you, he couldn’t help but feel bad that he used his gift on you. It was almost an unfair playing card- a “get-out-of-jail” card.

Because you should be running, terrified and screaming, even with his ability active in your mind. Maybe he had used it too much? Yoongi recalled the one time he went overboard with his gift, driving a man to suicide as he focused too much on the meaning of life and the regretful things he had done. Immediately concerned, Yoongi reached out a mental tether- a rare talent amongst his kind- to gauge your stability.

What he found, instead, was a dark and curling line attaching to his, pulling it in as quickly as Yoongi offered it. Before he could reel back away from it, it was fully intertwined and pulling his line to attach to you, only to rear back and completely obliterate his senses when it entered his head.

No. No no no. It’s impossible.

Yoongi was moving forward and caging you against the bed at full speed before he could stop himself, nestling his body between your eagerly opening legs as a hiss escaped his lips. Immediately, he realized that he broke through your command unwavered. The thirst came back at full force when you moaned from the friction on your heat.

“You’re-“ He tested the sensation of true, sexual arousal with a slow grind of himself into you, gasping with a jerk of his dick when his action squeezed his member between his body and yours. “You’re my-“

You moaned again, sitting up slightly to try and capture his lips with your own, unable to control the desire that surmounted in your heart. When he resumed his look of shock, backing away from your advance so that he could look at where your bodies touched, you spoke through the heady emotion. “I’m your what?”

“It can’t be.” He whispered. After a single beat, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours with a crushing pressure that split your lip instantly.

The pain seared across your bottom lip and distracted you for a moment, emitting a groan deep in your throat that he matched when the taste of your blood exploded onto his tastebuds. Instead of swallowing it like he wanted to, he brought a hand to your chin and opened your lips to spit your blood, along with his venom, back into your mouth so that it would take your pain away.

For a moment, you held the mix of liquids on your tongue, unsure of what to do as no one had ever spit in your mouth before. You looked up to him with confusion extremely evident in your arched brows.

“Swallow it.” He growled.

The taste of iron and an almost sugary sweet tang of saliva was too strong for you to keep sitting on your tongue, so you did as he told you to before he kissed you again to repeat the same action. Slowly, you got into the rhythm of swallowing what he gave you.

Before long, he simply gave you his tongue, allowing you to suck the saliva from his mouth greedily. You didn’t understand why, but the taste was addicting and adding to the pulsing feeling that radiated between your legs. Were you getting lightheaded? No. This sensation was much more blissful and exciting.

He pulled away after sucking on your wounded lip once more, spitting the mixture into your awaiting mouth for a final time before sitting up to look down at your body.

His venom was already taking effect. He could smell it on your skin as it flowed through your veins and filled your system just like a virus would. It would be simple to turn you at this point. You would be his for eternity, bonded to him in ways only the Fated One of a vampire would. Yoongi shook the thought from his head as he wasn’t even sure that you were, indeed, his.

“What am I to you?” You asked genuinely, swollen lip slightly obstructing your speech.

“Don’t worry about that right now, Y/N. Right now, I am going to fuck you, okay?” He met your gaze with his dark eyes filled with confidence, knowing that you would be unable to deny him if his belief was true.

“Yes. Yes, please Yoongi.” You breathed, begging him almost drunkenly. “Please. I’m yours.”

His mind was nudged forward by a different force this time, warranting unknown instincts to play into action.

He felt his center of gravity shift. His skin grew tight and uncomfortable around his body from the emotion that wished to burst through the surface. He breathed with you. Perfectly aligned were your rhythms; his heart soared alongside your own galloping one, desperate to match you in every aspect. The sensations in his body were difficult to ignore as he felt the ancient and sacred pull of a bond lacing itself through his limbs.

Instead of pondering over the reality of it any further, he slid his hand from your chin to your shirt and pinched the fabric between his fingers. You nodded in reassurance.

Your clothes tore form your body like paper. Wrapping his fingers around your arm to keep your body in place, Yoongi ripped your thin blouse from you easily. Your breasts, made plump by the bra you wore, caught his attention the moment they were revealed. Perfect.

Instead of looking like a moron seeing exquisite breasts for the first time, he moved his hand to your dress pants so that he could rid your body of them. In under ten seconds, Yoongi had you almost bare below him. Perfect.

Not even realizing it until you brought your thumb to his lips to swipe his shi from the corner of his mouth, Yoongi shook his head at the fact that the sight of you wriggling and bare-skinned beneath him made him literally drool, but his instincts went haywire when he watched you place your thumb in your mouth to suck his venom off yourself with a low moan of appreciation at the taste.

Yoongi’s hands couldn’t move faster as he tore the clothes from his body, stripping himself bare to reveal himself to you. He wanted to give you everything. To open his mind and spread everything out for you to see- he hoped you could handle it.

You, on the other hand, were laying below him with the desperate need to have him inside you.

You wanted him everywhere. You wanted him to sink himself into you- it seemed to be the only fathomable option. You wanted him to hold you and kiss you and surround you with everything him.

As you stared up at him with a needy look in your eyes, you couldn’t help but want him in every facet possible.

You saw yourself making love to him, holding him, kissing him- loving him. The new sensation brought on you by the psychic connection- that was all you could call it when you felt the mental attachment- brung passionate emotions through your body in an onslaught that you could barely handle. It was too much to deal with without him inside you to be with you through it yet you didn’t know if you could handle what would follow.

Yoongi could smell you through your panties; a delicious scent of the most raw tease he had ever allowed himself to indulge in. Unable to help himself, he moved down your body quickly, throwing your legs open- rather roughly- to give himself room to press his nose straight into your heat. Your aroma filled his nose as he expanded his lungs, triggering his natural instincts to push out his fangs and load his vision with blood to enhance it despite his eyes being closed. Fuck, he wanted to consume you.

You keened at the contact, closing your thighs around his head to trap him there. You felt his groan vibrate on you, driving you closer to the brink of insanity.

Without any further time wasted, he grabbed onto your panties and ripped them from you to expose your pulsating pussy to his mouth without moving his nose away from your intoxicating scent. Not a beat passed before he dug his tongue into you to scoop up your DNA-laced juices. Fuck.

Yoongi lost himself in you immediately. You whined out a small cry, unable to keep yourself from grabbing onto his hair and yanking when all you felt were his lips and tongue laving over your opening relentlessly. There was no skill nor technique in his movements; he was simply devouring you without a mind to pay attention to your bundle, yet you couldn’t stop the sensitivity from boggling your mind and driving you to an instant orgasm.

His hands squeezed your thighs around his head and, for a brief moment, he opened his eyes to look at you. The color of his eyes staring back at you was unexpected- a solid, snow white color filled his orbs and contrasted starkly with the red hue of his engorged veins and bloodshot scleras.

“Yoongi,” You whimpered from another swipe of his tongue and suck from his lips. “Y-Your eyes.”

He pulled away from you instantly at the comment, eyes widening and wet mouth hanging agape, while you let out a groan of relief- or sadness- at the lack of attention to your incredibly sensitive core.

“What color are they?” He asked.

“White.” You struggled to speak, voice cracking under the post-orgasm glow.

He took a moment to look down at your heaving body and messy pussy, jerking forward slightly at the sight of your delicious juice smeared all over your thighs. Once he had a handle on his thirst again, Yoongi met your eyes as the white faded from his irises. “Then you are her.”

“I’m who?” You reached for him, needing to hold him anywhere you could get your hands on. Yoongi caught this action immediately, the same desire to grasp you evident in his hand rushing to meet yours. It was natural to intertwine your fingers while he leaned over you to press his lips to yours in a short, uncharacteristically loving kiss.

“You are my Fated One- my mate. You hold my soul in the palm of your hand, as I do yours.” He murmured, feathering his lips over yours as he spoke.

Under normal circumstances, you don’t think you’d be able to comprehend his words with your current position with him. You were exposed to him and he was exposed to you, making you feel vulnerable and turned on beyond belief. Yoongi was reaching behind you to unclasp your bra while you took in what he had said. His thumb was brushing over your bare nipple before your bra even hit the floor.

“So-” You had to clear your throat again. “So you’re mine? Like, completely?”

He chuckled warmly at your question and you couldn’t stop yourself from reciprocating the smile.

“Yes, Y/N, I am yours.” He brought his hand down to grip your thigh and move it to the side. “I belong to you.”

Yoongi placed his dick against your folds and you watched him so do. You felt his tip capture onto your clit several times as he lathered it with your arousal languidly, preparing himself so that he could slide into you easier. “However,”

“However?” You looked up at him with a questioning look accentuated by your eyebrows.

“You are also mine.” Yoongi stopped his movement so that the head of his cock finally caught onto your opening, kickstarting your heart into a pace that you were afraid would kill you. “Do you understand that?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

Torturously, he began to push inside you. You widened your legs to accompany his approaching hips. As you warbled out a cry when he decided to drop his control and fill you completely in the next second, Yoongi began speaking again.

“Do you understand that everything about you,” He reared back and pushed inside you again, forcing your legs open to take him while he did so. “-is mine?”

You couldn’t respond. Your emotions were running rampant with your mind overflowing from too much stimuli while he fucked you. He spoke again without your reply and you could only pull him closer to you and take the feeling of his cock caressing your insides.

“Your lips,” Thrust. “your eyes,” Thrust. “your hair, your hands, your skin;” He punctuated each part of your body with a ram of his dick into you. “Everything, Y/N.”

Yoongi took a moment to look down at your joining bodies, smirking softly at the sight of how easily he slid inside. “-Especially this greedy little cunt of yours.”

You watched his smirk drop while he bit his lip and ground himself into you, lips parting again with a low moan whilst keeping his gaze transfixed on the sinful sight. You watched him in awe as his cock plunged so deep that it felt like it was in your throat.

He snapped his eyes to yours quickly, repeating his prior question. “Do you understand?”

Expecting to be interrupted by a thrust, you sucked your bottom lip in your mouth and braced yourself, only to be grabbed by the neck while he leaned down to bring you face-to-face. You could no longer breathe as he pulled his lips back to reveal his fangs. “I asked you if you understood, Y/N.”

With your airway restricted, you could only nod with your lip still stuck between your teeth. Did you taste blood? Promptly, you remembered that Yoongi busted your lip, yet you were confused as to why you hadn’t felt the pain of it since he first kissed you.

“And are you okay with that?” Yoongi began to nose his way down your neck once he turned your head to the side and slowed the rhythm of his hips. Right before you could answer, he released your neck to look at your face, allowing a large rush of air to enter your lungs just as you were attempting to give him an answer.

“Yes!” You released your lip to scream out at the welcome sensation of oxygen and the feel of his dick pushing it right back out of you. “I’m yours! Everything is yours!”

“Good, my love. Good.” He whispered, smiling down at you. His smile was wiped clean off his face in a heartbeat, his thrusts into you completely ceased, as he zeroed in on your lips. You licked them subconsciously, immediately tasting blood and internally cringing at the flavor of iron coating your tongue.

Yoongi attached his lips around your bottom one quickly and you felt him suck it into his mouth. Your walls squeezed tightly around his at the sensation of his tongue swiping over the spli in your engorged lip again and again. You knew that your lip would be swollen yet you couldn’t find yourself to care because it, surprisingly, didn’t hurt at all. The small bits of Yoongi’s saliva that slipped into your mouth were enough to keep you on edge, tasting like raw sugar at that point.

He began moving inside you again, starting a slow and steady pace. You whimpered into his mouth as he began taking his fill of your blood and you mirrored his thirst with the need to taste his mouth again. Your lips pressed closer to his in order to, hopefully, get a bit more of his spit.

You felt your orgasm building laggardly. It was creeping in at a speed that you were able to prepare yourself for your ascent towards ecstasy. You tightened your legs around his waist and dug your heels into the globes of his ass, pulling him in.

It wasn’t until you were bordering on your climax that Yoongi pulled away from your lip with your pop and sat up to focus on fucking you, his peace of mind obviously waning.

You saw it in his face; you saw the way he couldn’t control his veins from darkening his face; you saw the way his eyes burned white and the way he was attempting to hold himself back from attacking you.

So you did him a favor.

“Yoongi.” You mumbled past your swollen lip. “Bite me.”

Min Yoongi had no option but to obey your command.

He surged forward, pressing himself against your clit deliciously and bottoming out as he lunged for your neck with his fangs fully protruded and a warbled hiss scratching its way out of his throat. With barely enough time to prepare, you bared your neck to him once more and clutched onto his arms for dear life, hoping it wouldn’t hurt too bad.

What you weren’t expecting was for it to feel unreservedly good.

The sensation took you by surprise, warranting a loud moan to escape from your lips before you could stop it. Why did his fangs feel so good in your flesh? It should definitely be hurting. But all you could do was moan and whine like a madwoman as you felt his lips close over the puncture wounds and begin to drink your blood straight from your flesh. His tongue continuously swiped over the teeth marks in your neck, keeping them clear from your body’s natural ability to scar itself and begin blocking the escaping blood. Every lick he delivered sent a pulse straight to your clit and an automatic instinct to tighten yourself around him.

Your pussy quivered around him uncontrollably. You were so close to cumming that you could practically taste the release on your tongue. In the few moments that Yoongi took his sips from your body, his slow propulsions forward into you had become more rough and insistent- as if he was trying to split you in two. Even as you felt your life essence leave your body, you were being filled time and time again by his cock at a deep and passionate rhythm.

At the first sign of getting lightheaded from blood loss, you came- hard.

Your juices squirted around him every time he reared himself back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head while you craned your neck back into your very-bloody pillow. With no where to go, unable to still him with his supernatural strength, you were only able scream out his name.

His speed increased through your orgasm and your sweet exclamations of pure bliss drove Yoongi into a lunatic, freeing himself of control and using his uncanny speed to fuck into you. Your extremely drenched pussy, still convulsing around him was battered and raw, yet he could not find it in himself to care as he desperately surged into you over and over again so that he could fill you with the cum of several centuries. Picturing the image of your cunt spewing his release from it had him closing his jaws and pulling on your wounds harder to get more blood from you.

He knew that he couldn’t drain you. Hearing the pulse of your heart weaken slightly was enough to make him detach his teeth and lick over your wound so that his shi could assist it in healing- it would be completely sealed and unblemished in the next few hours. Instead of worrying too much about your neck, he reared back to look down at you again while he grabbed onto your hips with fervor.

You saw the drops of blood running down from Yoongi’s mouth and chin drip onto your breasts and stomach, creating an erotic and utterly unwholesome image of carnage and horror on your body, but you were unable to help yourself in feeling unsettlingly drawn to the wicked image. With a new flash of desire exploding through your body and reawakening your lust, you reached up and grabbed his neck, pulling him back down to trap him in your embrace.

The oversensitivity of your last orgasm was enough to send you hurtling to the edge of another orgasm- You just needed his fangs in you one more time. Silently begging for it, you kept your grip on his nape and softly nudged him back in the direction of your neck.

Yoongi was close. You could tell. But even past his stupor, he spoke.

“Y/N. I can’t. I took too much.” He almost whined with need, struggling to form words past his fangs.

“Just-“ Your body jolted wildly as he desperately tried to cum. “Just do it!”

Yoongi was able to deny your command, which he figured was due to not being a specific one, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave it unanswered as his body built in preparation to release.

“I fucking can’t!” He was close to roaring at this point, gums aching to meet your flesh as he pressed his fangs into you and filled you with his essence. He wanted to so badly.

“Drink from me, dammit!” Your eyes were welling with tears of frustration, needing that small push from him to make you orgasm again- his dick hammering your cervix was too much to handle without that small bit of pain to ground you. And without hesitation nor the choice to deny you, he did.

Your orgasms were perfectly in sync as he placed his fangs back into your wounds, delicious blood spilling across his tongue once again. Liquid life. It was the perfect few words for how you tasted.

Your pussy ached with the force of how tight you squeezed around him and Yoongi groaned lowly against your neck as he pressed himself so tightly to you that you knew his hands would be leaving bruises on your hips and ass.

“Yoongi.” You sobbed as his cum filled you, pulsing spurt after warm spurt of the hot liquid onto your abused cervix. The thought of him taking your blood while he gave you his cum was too sinful for you to bear, an outburst of emotion causing you to chant his name over and over again. Never before in your life had you felt so complete and free.

You could feel your blood levels draining as you slowly came down from your climax, knowing that you would not be awake for much longer if he kept drinking.

“That’s enough.” You whispered tiredly, head becoming truly lightheaded. Yoongi, unable to rescind his teeth from your neck, kept drinking from you as the thirst and aggression of the first mating actuated his movements. “Yoongi.”

He tried to pull away- he really did- but the feeling of your blood coating his tastebuds was like finding a quarry in the middle of the Sahara Desert. He lacked the true thirst for humans for thousands of years- and now he was suffering the polydipsia for blood all over again.

“Yoongi, stop.” You commanded, testing your supposed ‘power.’

Yoongi ceased to drink from you yet his fangs were still embedded in your skin, vibrating with pleasure and need. As he stopped, he couldn’t help but whine and then growl savagely with want. The vibration of of his throaty sound in your flesh did things to your body. Unable to resist the temptation, your body clenched involuntarily around his softening cock.

Yoongi groaned again, retracting his fangs and face from your neck, and sat up once more to look at your body. With a slow hand, he stuck out his index and middle finger to smear the droplets of blood on your stomach in small circles aimlessly, picturing you as a canvas made just for him to ruin. “You’re quite the minx, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” You giggled deliriously, needing sleep as soon as possible.

“I mean,” Yoongi reached down to smear a droplet of blood across your hip before digging his thumb and fingers into the bone and the flesh of your ass harshly. “Your cunt is playing games with me right now.”

“How so?” You tilted your head to the side in mock confusion.

The vampire pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed almost disdainfully. You gasped as you felt his dick jerk within you, filling to stiffness once more and awakening a new cloud of lust despite the exhaustion you felt. “Well, if you want to play clueless, you can play clueless. We have eternity to teach you how to not play games with me, my mate.”

For eternity? You kind of liked the sound of that.

~#~

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[cdroloisms]

Sooo... how about that reveal that c!Sam wasn’t feeding c!Dream? I mean, we all knew it was coming, but still. The auto food dispenser probably broke or smtg bc when c!Sam came down, c!Dream asked if he was there to give them potatoes. (Also with him being shaken up by learning c!Tommy is alive, c!Sam might not remember or care to feed c!Dream, who has none of his stores of potatoes left.) So, assuming the dispenser is broken and he doesn’t know, why would he come down in the first place? 🟩⛏?

hello anon !! yeah that reveal ,, dang, we already knew that c!sam had presumably been starving c!dream, but to see not only c!dream but c!sam confirm it as well as it having lasted AT LEAST a week ,, d a n g . they are Not pulling any punches in this arc (which, i mean, judging on the q stream, isnt exactly surprising anymore,, but still)

in the prison guard stream, we see how the dispenser works - it’s not automatic as much as it’s remote, as c!sam or the prison guards still need to press a button in order to dispense food. he also says “i havent even been around to feed the prisoner” or something along those lines in tommy’s stream, so we can conclude that the decision to deprive c!dream of food after c!tommy’s death is INTENTIONAL,, which i mean. again. yikes. 

anyway, here’s a snippet of c!dream finding out that the “automatic” feeder isnt as automatic as he might’ve thought - here, the dispenser + crying obsidian are installed at around the same time, so it’s between bad and sapnap’s visit

tw: starvation, disordered eating, abuse, mental illness, self-hatred, toxic relationship, gaslighting, disturbing imagery, dark content, c!sam/warden!sam critical (again, be careful with the content warnings)

Dream stares up at the hole in the obsidian, barely able to make out a glint of metal in the dark chute. The dispenser, just as expected, doesn’t respond to his glare, refuses to whir and click in the way that indicates food, and Dream bites his tongue, mumbles curses under his breath.

“Prick,” he blows a breath through his gritted teeth, only more irrationally angry when the dispenser, as expected, ignores him. “Some automatic dispenser, Warden.”

The walls don’t respond. Nothing responds, here, besides the dark dark thoughts swirling in his brain, and he thinks he’d prefer it if those didn’t - or maybe he doesn’t, because company is company, even if said company is the same litany of blood anger revenge pain you deserve this you deserve all of this you have destroyed the world now lie in the bed you have made pounding at the base of his skull. He drags his hand down his face; every minute is an hour, and every hour is a minute. Time has no meaning when your only frame of reference is eternity.

Even so, even he can tell that it’s been a long time since he’s had food, even by his usual standards - several days, at least, because the ever-present ache of hunger in his gut had swelled into something angrier, demanding, no longer as easy to ignore. Another stabbing round of pain nearly sends him to his knees, and just as he always he does, he clings to the feeling, gathers it into his hands, grabs it by the edges and directs the sharp edges into the words he spits at the indifferent walls. Let the Warden hear him - what can he possibly do?

Just as it always does, the fury in him peters out, drains, leaves him alone in the middle of his cell. He sinks the ground, arms wrapped around his stomach; a part of him wants to laugh at the irony. Some people think of silence as emptiness, void; he knows now that it’s anything but. Silence is suffocating, thick, so present that anything he says seems to get lost within it seconds after leaving his mouth. It grows and pushes into his limbs, becomes a weight tied around his throat, expands into the air in his lungs like a slowly inflating balloon until it’s pressed into every corner and space of the cell, every corner and space of him, taking up so much room that he can hardly breathe around it.

The hunger hollows him out, and the silence fills the space that’s left; Dream wonders how much more there is for him to lose before he’s completely empty, just a husk filled with the same liquid misery that drips down the walls. He wonders if anyone would care- laughs. As if.

“Dream.” The intercom crackles; Dream perks up at the voice, spine straightening against his will, and his hands tighten into fists as he realizes - prime, how pathetic is he, now? The voice deepens, becomes more insistent. “Prisoner.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Or maybe I’m not; you better come and check, yeah?” A humorless smile tugs at his lips, and a static-filled sigh comes through the speaker.

“This isn’t the time for games, Dream.”

Dream rolls his eyes. It’s not exactly the time to be a dick, either, but you don’t see me complaining. A flutter of something warm, joyful, rises in his chest at the sound of something- someone, other than his own voice, and he strangles it with a hand wrapped around his own throat - he won’t let them break him, won’t let himself become desperate enough to crave the attention of a man that hates him - he won’t- he can’t-

“Do you need something? Or were you yelling at the wall for no reason again?” Sam’s voice is steely, indifferent, on a knife’s edge between apathy and anger. “Don’t waste my time, prisoner.”

Dream bites down the snarky reply sitting on his tongue, breathes in, out through his nose until the fury is no longer blinding.

“Your fancy automatic jig is broken. The potato one. It’s not- working.” The hunger fogs his mind, makes it hard to think. He feels caged and weak and pathetic and he hates it.

“That’s because it’s not automatic.” Footsteps echo on the speakers, Dream tapping along to the rhythm before he realizes and stops himself, and a moment later the familiar whirring and clicking of the metal box comes from behind him and a small pile of potatoes fall down and splash into the water. “There. Is that all?”

Dream feels the fury rise, again, but doesn’t quite to keep the words back, this time.

“So what was the point of the whole automatic feeder, asshole? You’ve changed nothing! What’s the difference between that thing and you coming over to my cell besides that you’ve wasted a couple stacks of redstone? Congratu-fucking-lations, you’re a goddamn genius-”

“It’s remote now, so I don’t have to come into your cell.”

“Oh, so it’s just the good ol’ Warden looking for more ways to make the prisoner suffer, huh? Should’ve figured, you fucking self-righteous prick-”

“Dream.”

His mouth shuts with a click, a flash of fear searing through his muscles, white-hot, and by the time he’s blinked back the ringing in his ears the silence has stolen all the words from him, once again. Pathetic, he screams in his head, but his jaw remains firmly locked in place - the Warden’s won, per usual, and they both know it.

“Is that all?” He sounds impatient. Part of Dream wants nothing more than to never hear his voice again, and the other half of him rails at the idea of being alone with his thoughts once more. All of him hates himself, and all of him hates the silence; they’re the only two constants in this place. “You’ll have to speak up if you want anything.”

“How- long was it, since you last gave food?”

Static for a moment, then another. “It’s only been about a day.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’d know if you took care of your clock instead of destroying it, prisoner.”

“I’d know if you were less of a fucking prick.”

“Behave, and you might get it replaced.” The Warden’s breathing is harsh, almost labored - he must be angrier than Dream thought, then. “Speaking of which, you won’t be getting any for a day after this stunt.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared. It’s not like you don’t do this - what, every other day?”

“Do you want food or not?”

Dream’s teeth grind against each other; he breathes in, out. He hates this, hates the potatoes, hates the Warden, hates himself. Hates the way that a part of him recoils at the thought of making the Warden angry at him, reaches desperately for a chance to earn his clock- his approval. Attachments are weakness, he tells his traitorous heart, knowing that it, as always, will fail to stay away.

“Yes. Thank you.” The pleasantry burns on his tongue, tastes worse than the bitterness of raw potatoes that seems to be the only thing it knows, anymore.

“Good-bye, prisoner. Don’t make me come into the cell.”

The intercom cuts off with a click, the space that the static made immediately filled by silence. Dream watches it blankly, jaw sore from how tight it had been clenched, and begins to work his way through the first potato, nibbling at the pale flesh just enough to tide over the worst of the pain.

This is fine, he tells himself, and the walls stare at him impassively. He’s not sure they believe him.

He’s not sure how much longer he can believe himself.